


Some Other Fantasy

by KimberlyFDR



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-18
Updated: 2009-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 08:23:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 138,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimberlyFDR/pseuds/KimberlyFDR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know what? Forget it. Forget all of this. I'm tired of falling right back into this sick little game you play. You pretend you want me and then you turn around and destroy me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. THE BEGINNING

**Author's Note:**

> During my time in the Starsky and Hutch fandom, I have come to realize that I have a very clear picture of them in the future. It involves happy domesticity with them living together, committed to one another, in their own home. So, one day I innocently asked Hutch, "How did you and Starsky fall in love?" I was not expecting the answer he gave. In his defense, he did show me the end of the whole story and then began the back-story, so I was assured that eventually they would be okay. What developed was a zine story that took me through 4 years of their lives and 11 months of my own.
> 
> During the course of discovering just how involved their relationship was, how many changes they went through to get to the point where I had always known them, I went through many changes of my own. I finished one year of graduate school, gained many wonderful friends, and bought my first home. I feel like the boys and I grew together during our time spent sharing their memories.
> 
> It's not an easy path that they took. It was a hard road and there were many ups and downs. The happiness and the sadness both washed over them as they tried to feel out what each step meant in the overall picture. They are eventually living together in their own home, older and wiser and totally in love with one another. But, earlier in their lives, they were young and scared and discovering what that love meant. This is their story.
> 
> "He Wasn't Talking To Me"  
> by Ron Romanovsky and Paul Phillips
> 
> He told me that he loved me  
> But who was he really talking to?  
> Was it my body, smooth and warm  
> Sheltering him from some emotional storm?  
> He wasn't talking to me
> 
> He told me that he needed me  
> But who was he really saying it to?  
> Was it his lover, miles away  
> That he was missing so badly that day?  
> He wasn't talking to me  
> He wasn't talking to me
> 
> I thought that he was promising me  
> With the passion of his words  
> But now it's just a dream  
> Only a movie scene  
> Or a conversation I overheard
> 
> He told me that he wanted me  
> But who was he really whispering to?  
> Was it some man I turned out not to be?  
> Must have been some other fantasy  
> He wasn't talking to me, no  
> Sure wasn't talking to me  
> He wasn't talking to me

I had known Jeanie for two months, but it only took two days for me to find out how wrong she was. The gangster who was obsessed with her had kidnapped me, and turned me into a heroin addict, just to find out where I'd hidden her. Once I gave him that information, his next step was to get rid of me. When I overheard his goon, Monk's, plan to dump me in the ocean, I did the only thing my drug-fogged mind told me to do, I ran. I didn't know where I was running to, but I knew that wherever it was, Starsky would find me. He always found me, saved me, made me safe again. This time was no different. He hid out with me and helped me beat my forced addiction cold turkey. I had a lot of nightmares about the needle and Jeanie those few days, but he made them go away for a little bit. The evil couldn't take hold of me anymore because he was there.

I remember his hands, cradling me and rubbing me as if to take all the pain away. But the hands were also strong when I begged for drugs. I told myself I just wanted to slip into oblivion one more time, then I'd be able to kick it after that, but Starsky wouldn't allow it. He stood fast against my attempts to escape, but I knew on the inside he was dying every time he looked at me, at my disgusting appearance. He didn't let that tear away at him, though. He must have had faith that underneath, his partner remained, and he would stay with me until I conquered all the demons inside.

With Starsky out on the case, I could work my end. It didn't take much to convince Huggy that I had to get out on the streets and talk to Mickey, the street stoolie, to see what he knew, but I had a hard time convincing myself. I wasn't very intimidating talking to the stoolie, was too weak to even talk at all for the most part, but I had to do something. I was in no shape to actually go out on the case when I did, but I had to finish it, give myself some kind of proof that I was still a cop. That meant arresting the jerks who made me what I had become, a junkie. It meant telling Jeanie to never come back because I knew I could never love her after what she had caused. It meant turning myself over to Starsky once again so that I didn't have to fight all of it alone.

He stayed at my place the whole week after he arrested Forrest. Dobey gave us leave so we could get better, both of us. I was reeling from the drugs, but Starsky was reeling from the adrenaline and when he crashed, he would need me just as much as I needed him. The days weren't too bad because I could take my mind off the memories of what had happened. I could focus on Starsky and normal, everyday tasks. What hurt worse were the nights. That's when the nightmares would come, intrude in on me. I couldn't stop them, couldn't make them go away, but I always reached out to a voice in my haze. One voice that grounded me and kept me from getting completely lost. I could always find my way back if I held onto that voice as my anchor.

The third night was the worst. I was having night-sweats so badly that I had soaked through a pair of shorts and the sheets. Starsky started changing them, but I was too tired to make an attempt at re-dressing. It would only mean more clothes ruined by the morning, so I slipped in between the crisp, cool sheets completely naked. It felt good and I hoped that this would keep away the dreams until morning.

I was wrong. During one of my dreams, the pain was too much. I kept seeing this light and hearing the saving voice, but the shadows were trying to overtake it. I knew the voice could make me feel good, even give me pleasure, but I couldn't reach it. I would get close to the light, the voice, and begin to get aroused by the happiness it filled me with, but then the shadows licked at my skin and pushed me away. I could feel the heaviness of my arousal, but I couldn't relieve it, couldn't reach my salvation.

"Help me," I moaned, reaching out towards the light and forcing myself to ignore the pain of the shadows. The light reached out, grabbed onto me and encircled my battered body. The shadows were pushing in, but we focused on our journey towards release.

"Make the shadows go away," I begged.

"Shh," the voice calmed me. "It's okay."

A hand grasped my hard organ and massaged it. The unseen person was trying to bring me closer and closer to release. If I could just experience happiness, then the demons would leave me alone.

"I need you," I said, willing him to come closer.

"I'm right here," the voice soothed. The body came closer, pressing itself against my side while a head of soft curls rested on my shoulder.

"Make me forget the pain. Please, make the pain go away," I whimpered.

"Shh, I can make it better," the voice promised. The hand squeezed harder, making my blood flow faster and my cock swell.

"Yes, oh yes. Please, help me."

"I'm here for you," the voice said softly, while the hand pulsed around my cock.

"I'm so alone. Hold me, keep me safe."

"I'll never leave you," the voice said, making me believe it. "Whatever you need, I'll be here with you."

The hand kept up its ministrations, pushing me toward release. The curls tickled, bringing me laughter on top of pleasure. Finally, I spilled forth in ecstasy. The hand kept up its massage as I went limp. It pulled back and trailed up my chest. Circular touches quieted my remaining fears and I finally went to sleep. The shadows were banished and I didn't have anything to fear anymore. I was protected, loved. I knew that the voice wouldn't abandon me, would keep me safe no matter what.

The next morning I was not alone; I wouldn't be alone again. Starsky was there, always there.

We went back to work the next week, going through the motions of cases and routine police-work. Starsky did his best to go back to the way things had been, but I knew he was looking out for me more than normal. That was okay; I didn't really mind. The ugliness of the streets were enough to get anyone down, so I felt good knowing someone was watching out for me.

Two weeks on the streets and I was back in the swing of things. Molly, a stewardess I'd been seeing on and off for awhile before Jeannie had blown into my life, had flown in and had a layover for the night. I invited her to come back to my place. Starsky came over for dinner and drinks with me and Molly. Maybe we were making him uncomfortable as the odd man out because he ducked out kind of early and I didn't see him again until the next morning. I think Molly asked him about it when I was out of the room to change, but I never asked.

Starsky killing Lonnie Craig tore him up inside. It didn't matter that the boy was going to kill him, Starsky couldn't get over the fact that he had shot a kid. I knew it would stay with him a long time. The hearing was just a formality since we both knew he wasn't going to be found to have used excessive force, but that didn't ease the tension we both had in the courtroom. I was there for him, as always. I even made a show of wearing my tie. That made him smile, for once. But, we couldn't even get one case over with before the evils encroached on us again.

Some crazy was going around wasting cops in Starsky's name. He said that the killings would stop if Starsky resigned, but I couldn't let that happen. Starsky tried to resign after Dan Tinker got shot, but Dobey and I kept him from doing anything rash. It wasn't Starsky's fault that the guy had a screw loose, it just meant that we had to find him before he could do anymore harm.

We searched for Tremaine, a petty crook who'd been friends with Lonnie Craig, for too long. Hours ticked by and we were still no closer to getting the answers we needed. Tremaine was nothing but a strung-out junkie popping chocolate like there was no tomorrow, searching for a score so he wouldn't hurt anymore. I tried to push the memories away, but they were still with me. I wanted to get Tremaine for Lonnie, for Starsky, but mostly for me. I saw what he had become and I saw what I could have become if Starsky hadn't been there.

Starsky tried to resign again after Jack Forest got wasted. The tension of the killings was weighing on the precinct, too. Beat cops were giving Starsky attitude because they saw him as being responsible for two cops being dead. It wasn't fair that he had to carry the burden of some sick man's idea of justice, but being Starsky, he did just that. Dobey once again refused to accept his defeat and Starsky remained a cop.

We finally cornered Tremaine in a grocery store downtown. When we brought him back to the station, Starsky was on edge. He almost clubbed Tremaine after he made a remark about contributing to the delinquency of a minor, but I calmed him down. Just took a look, that's all it ever takes. He knew that we'd get nowhere if Tremaine clammed up, so he cooled it while I took over the questioning. Finding out Lonnie was a runner put us right back to square one. All this time we were searching for Tremaine and he didn't have the answers.

The psycho called again while we were questioning Tremaine. Starsky and I picked up the phone and listened in. Again he made threats of violence if Starsky didn't resign in an hour, only this time a cop's family was gonna get it. This was too much, too deadly for all of us. We went up to Dobey's office to listen to the tape, see if we could decipher a little more about our mystery man.

The pause, the pause in the conversation was the clue I needed. It hit me that this guy had to have been involved with us at some level before. Then it clicked. Starsky and I looked at each other and it clicked. Our first case out of uniform was an undercover narcotics case at a local high school. We busted a nineteen year old for dealing, Gary Prudholm. He had been stabbed in the city jail afterwards and his father, George Prudholm, had promised to seek his revenge on Starsky for sending his son to his death. George Prudholm, a nightmare from the past, had come to visit us again.

We got a current address, but he wasn't there. We tore the apartment apart, looking for a clue. I found it, stuck in the locker, the same caliber bullets that took out Dan Tinker. Starsky went off, started trashing the place. Adding insult to injury, Prudholm called and taunted him. Starsky baited him right back, using his son's death against him. He insisted on meeting Starsky, alone. I tried to get the location out of him, but he refused. Alone meant alone and Starsky wasn't going to jeopardize someone else's life, especially not a cop's family. We gave each other a knowing glance of concern before he left.

I knew he was going off into suicide and I knew I couldn't stop him, but that didn't mean I couldn't follow him. It was stupid of me to take a black and white, but desperate times often threw rational thoughts out the window. I had a partner to protect and nothing was going to stop me. I followed him to the old zoo, parked out front so I could assess the situation without drawing attention to myself. I heard Starsky call Prudholm and a few minutes later I saw the psycho taking aim at my partner. I shouted a warning and charged forward. This man was not going to take another life and I was going to make sure of it. He wouldn't get away from us; he couldn't. For a split second when Starsky had his gun pointed at him, I almost wanted Starsky to shoot, but that wouldn't have solved anything. We took Prudholm in and booked him so he couldn't harm any more people.

Starsky was emotionally exhausted by the time we finished processing Prudholm. Dobey could tell that, too, so he ordered us to go home and get some rest.

That's all the incentive I needed. I dragged Starsky out the door by the arm. He was working on automatic, so I grabbed the car keys and pushed him towards the passenger's side. He let out a little 'hey' but didn't put up any more resistance. I got in and started driving towards home. I kept looking over at him, willing him to talk, but failing. When I turned off towards my place, he finally came alive.

"Where're you going?" he asked, irritated.

"We're going to my place. I'm tired and so are you," I patiently explained.

"And I need to sleep, so drop me off at my place!" he responded, gruffly.

"Then how am I supposed to get home?" I asked, smugly.

"I'll...Well..."

"See? Just crash at my place and drop it. Besides, we need to talk."

He looked over at me, probably questioning my motives. "Nothing to talk about. I'm tired, just need to sleep. That's all."

"That's not all," I said, pulling up to the house and stopping the car. "Now, are you gonna come in and talk or sit out here alone?" I asked, pulling the keys from the ignition and slipping them into my pocket.

Without another word, I got out and went to open the front door. I heard Starsky grumble something behind me and then he was there, waiting to be let in. I smiled and opened the door. After discarding my coat, I hung up my gun and holster in the closet.

Starsky pushed past me and went to the kitchen. "You got any food around here?"

"I thought you were tired," I said, following him.

"Doesn't mean I can't eat," he replied, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a piece of turkey and a root beer.

"So if you have time to eat, you have time to talk," I said, trying to corner him. This was a bad idea because I knew that cornering Starsky was only grounds for making him mad. He grabbed his food and walked away from me. Ignoring me wasn't going to help matters, but he could try. He sat down on the couch and continued eating.

I decided to push again. "Can't you just focus on me for a minute? You almost shot Prudholm today. Don't you think we ought to talk about it?" I asked, standing in the kitchen doorway without crowding him and forcing him to run.

"Almost don't count," he brushed off my complaint. "You were there. I didn't do it, case closed."

"No, the case isn't closed!" I yelled, entering the room. "What if I hadn't been there, huh?"

"Then he woulda been dead!" Starsky bit back, jumping up from the couch and squaring off with me. "Is that what you wanna hear? If you hadn't of been there, I probably woulda shot him. And who cares? He killed two cops, he threatened a family, and he almost killed me. Why should I care if scum like that gets killed?"

"Because you should," I responded softly. "You should care that you almost killed someone in cold blood." I started raising my voice. "You should care because you're a fine cop who almost threw his life and career away on some two-bit punk. You should care that you almost lost a partner because of your actions!"

I didn't mean to say that, but I knew it would bait him enough. I was right because he stopped dead and just looked at me. I could see the emotions cataloguing through his mind. First anger at what I had said, then fear that I was telling the truth, and finally sadness over what he had almost done.

"I..." he faltered. "I almost...I almost shot him." His eyes filled with tears. "I almost shot him and I didn't care."

I went and took him in my arms. "It's okay, Starsk."

"I almost took a life in cold blood, Hutch. He was pulling my strings and I almost bought it. If you hadn't been there..."

"Shh," I soothed. "But I was. I'll always be there."

"He's...Aw, man, he killed..."

"He's gone now," I said, pulling back so I could look him in the eye. "He's gone and he's not gonna come back. You're not responsible for the cops he killed, you're not responsible for having to shoot Lonnie, and you're not responsible for any of this going wrong. It was him and his perverted mind. You hear me?"

"My head does," he said as he tried to smile. "I'm just so tired, so burnt out on it all."

"Let's just go lay down, huh?" I suggested.

At his nod, I led him to the bedroom so he could get some sleep. The big brass bed was now taking up residence there. I got rid of the old one after my weeklong ordeal of withdrawal. It was just too much to look at, too many memories to bear. Starsky helped me trade up and now this one was here.

"Take off your gun and lay down," I told him. "Just lie down and rest, huh?"

"Sure," he agreed, beginning to strip away his holster and jacket.

He sat down on the bed and took off his shoes. He looked down at his shirt and decided to discard that, too. I had already stripped my shirt and pants off in anticipation of the shower I needed. I started to gather up some things so I could bed down for the night on the couch. That caught his attention.

"Where're you going?" He looked up.

"Couch," I responded. "Don't worry, I'll be quiet. You just get some sleep." I moved away from the bedroom, but one word made me stop.

"Don't."

I looked over at him, a question in my eyes.

"I.... Just, just don't leave me alone, okay? Lay down with me...please?"

He had a lilt in his voice, like his whole body could break any minute. I knew my partner and if he needed me by his side right now, that's where I'd be. I mean, the man stayed with me through the roughest possible situations, so there was no way I was going to turn my back on him now.

He lay down on the bed, on top of the covers. I sat down beside him, not daring to touch, but just watching. He stared at the ceiling, not saying a word. Finally, he spoke.

"You ever think about what it would be like to have a wife and kids?" he asked, turning his eyes towards me.

That's my partner, totally random. "Umm, did that, didn't like it."

"I don't mean Van, I mean someone special, someone you could see spending the rest of your life with, settling down with."

"What brought this on?" I asked.

"When Prudholm was threatening to waste a cop's family I got to thinking." He paused, looking away. "Those two he killed, Tinker and Forest, they had families who're not gonna get to see their husbands or fathers anymore." He looked back up. "Sometimes I think that it would have been easier just to give myself up before any of this went as far as it did. They had families who are gonna miss them forever, but me, I got nobody. If I'm gone, it wouldn't affect as many people."

His words chilled me. I grabbed him by the arm and hauled him up to a sitting position. "Now look! You stop talking like that! You getting killed wouldn't have solved anything and it certainly wouldn't have been a better solution."

He sat, shocked. He looked at me as if I had gone insane, like he couldn't understand what had possessed me to yell at him. I heard a slight hiss and he looked down at his arm, which I still held tightly. I let go, but a mark was already appearing there.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, but I couldn't manage anything else. I couldn't stand to look into his eyes anymore.

"Hey! Hey," he said, trying to get my attention. I looked back up at him. "What was that all about?"

"What was that all about?!" I repeated. "You sit there and talk about your life like it's no big deal, like you're expendable, and you ask me what that was all about?"

"Hutch, my life _is_ expendable. All cops' lives are expendable when it comes down to it, you know that."

"Not to me it's not," I said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he questioned.

"It means..." I paused, taking a breath. "It means that there's a whole lot of people who would grieve if you ever went away and a few who wouldn't be able to handle it."

"It didn't happen. I was just thinking," he tried.

"Well, stop thinking it! Talking crazy ain't gonna solve anything. You dying wasn't an option in this case or in any case. You got that?"

"I got it," he agreed. He put his hands on my arms. "We both need to rest. I was just talking crazy. I promise, no more. Just lie down and rest, okay?"

With that, he pushed me down so that I was lying on the pillow. He lay down beside me, his head resting on my shoulder and his hand trailing my bad arm. That's what I called my left arm, my bad arm. That's where the needle had repeatedly gone in. That's where the unseen scars would always be. There was no visual clue to my ordeal, but I could still feel the needle pricks on the arm.

I closed my eyes, letting his trailing fingers relieve the tension I had built up. I felt his curls on my shoulder, felt the tickle as he moved his head ever so slightly. I knew I was safe, knew he was there to protect me. From the back of my mind, I remembered something. It wasn't a clear memory, more like a lost dream. I remembered the curls, being safe, not fearing the shadows. I remembered a hand softly trailing my chest and helping me relieve my tension in other ways. The memory was soothing to me, erotic in a way. I could feel myself getting hard with each brush of Starsky's fingers on my arm.

"Oh, man," I groaned, opening my eyes.

"What's wrong?" Starsky asked, stopping his fingers.

I reached to grab the sheet to cover my growing erection, but it was too late. Starsky's eyes followed my hand and he saw my state. The bulge was evident beneath my briefs and there was no way to cover it now.

"I'm...I'm sorry," I said, faltering in embarrassment. "I was remembering a dream I had when I was in withdrawal and...and I guess I let my mind wander a little."

He looked back up at me, his eyes filling with concern. "Well, I don't think it was a dream." My confusion grew as he drew his hand over my chest. "You were hurting and I...helped you out. I didn't know if you remembered it or not, so I didn't say anything."

"You..." I stopped, trying to collect my thoughts. "Are you saying...that you...."

"I'm saying I helped you out," he said, stopping any further explanation. "You were hurting and I helped you out. That's what partners do, they help each other out."

I was speechless. Starsky was admitting to having done what I only thought I had dreamed. _He_ was the voice, the light. He had given me the pleasure that I needed when I didn't even realize it was him.

"I wanted to do it," he admitted, breaking into my thoughts. "I mean, I didn't hate it or anything." He was trailing his hand over my chest and could feel my heartbeat as he spoke. "Sometimes you just wanna feel close to somebody and you wanna show them how much you feel for them, but you just can't do it."

I put my hand over his and stilled his roaming. "Then why did you think I wouldn't care if you died?"

"Because..." he began. "I don't know. I know you care, but it shouldn't matter that much. Partners break up, cops die, it shouldn't affect us the way it does...but it does. I need you more than I've ever needed anybody and it scares me." He looked up into my eyes. "It's a liability."

"It's not a liability," I said, bringing his hand up to my mouth and placing a soft kiss on it. "It's love."

"Why do we care so much, Hutch?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Because it's who we are," I explained. "We need each other to be whole, but that doesn't mean we're any less of a person. We're special, partner. We've got each other."

"Can I..." he faltered. "Can I show you how much I need you?"

I nodded and he moved closer to me, his soft lips coming into contact with mine. My lips parted as he pushed further, letting his tongue reach inward. I dropped the hand I was holding so I could place both on his face and pull him down. His hand trailed down my chest and onto my waiting bulge. The massaging began and the memories of that night returned. The voice was calling out to me, telling me that everything was okay because he was there. But this time, I could see his face, know his voice, and understand the magnitude of that promise. Starsky's kisses continued, nipping at me in rhythm with his pumping my groin.

I finally felt release, staining my underwear in the process. He kept up the massage, just as he had before, ducking his head down to my shoulder. When I went lax, he released me. He lay upon me, not speaking. His ear was against my chest so that he could hear the beating underneath a reassurance that I was still there, still alive. Prudholm hadn't got to me, hadn't taken away the one person he needed. I was there for him, however he needed me. It's what partners do; they take care of each other.

I was able to slip out from under him a half an hour later. His breathing deepened and I knew that he had drifted off to sleep. I took my shower and went to lie on the couch. There was no need to go back to the bedroom, to the man who had just done what he needed to do in order to reassure himself that I wouldn't leave him. I was there; I was whole. I was his lifeline when times got rough.

The next morning neither of us spoke of the time we'd spent together. We simply went to work, went through the motions, and never said anything about what had happened. There was really no need, no reason to bring up something that was neither a source of shame nor a source of pain. It was just us, being who we needed to be for one another.

Molly came back into town and we got together with Starsky and his girl of the week. We laughed and rejoiced and drank banana daiquiris, but we didn't speak of what had taken place that night. It was a comforting situation, nothing more. We were back to normal, back to being cops who were there for one another. That's all it was, that's all it ever was going to be. It was about love, not being in love.

~~~

The next weeks went by without much incident. Well, there was the whole almost-getting-killed-in-Starsky's-car bit, but it wasn't his fault. Someone had cut his brake lines and we went careening down the hill as a result. We made it through, though, so that was the main thing. Then we went undercover as pimps to bust a drug ring. I bought all our clothes for the occasion. That's the last time I try to buy him a decent pair of shoes, though. All he did was complain about them, how they made his feet hurt, how they were ruining his arch, how they weren't his style. I really loved those shoes.

Cheryl, the lady who was working with us to sting Danner, made a comment about us in the car.

"Hey, you two really are straight!"

She didn't mean what I thought she meant, but I was being paranoid. I was afraid that something had changed between Starsky and me, and that everyone else could see it. So, I tried to laugh it off.

"Yeah, how 'bout that?"

"Well, in a kinky kinda way," Starsky laughed, looking over at me.

Reading each other in a glance is a great strong suit. I made the motion for him to cool it. Did he want us to get found out? Maybe I was reading too much into it, but what we had done still weighed on my mind. Sure it was an act of need, sure it was something that gave me pleasure, but it wasn't something we should be alluding to in public. He took the hint because he dropped it without another comment.

Cars seemed to be the theme of the month, too. My own car blew a gasket out back of Huggy's. It had happened before, it would happen again, so no big deal. Well, I thought it wasn't such a big deal, but apparently the world wasn't going to make my life easy. My car club didn't think I existed. It's pretty funny that they take my money every year, but just because they can't find me in the computer they can pretend they never heard of me. We're all numbers, anyway. Membership numbers, call numbers, ticket numbers, badge numbers, and number of bodies that can pile up in one day.

When we got the call about the dead body in the park, it was just a normal case. When I saw her face, though, I knew that this would be all too painful for the both of us. Helen had been a good friend to me. I liked her when she rode with us and Starsky liked her enough to start a relationship. It hit him hard when she broke up with him. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe they should have made it work, but it was all too late now. She was dead and Starsky was shattered. I knew I had to take care of him, make sure he didn't fall apart before we could find the psycho behind it.

It looked like a simple robbery connection. Helen had gone undercover as a go-go dancer at a club called the Mellow Yellow three months before to break up a robbery ring. Only, it wasn't so simple after all. Cindy, her friend, was drugged to keep her silence about the robberies. What a waste; all for a big score in jewelry. The problem was, we were chasing our tails the whole time. We got the robbers, busted them, but they hadn't killed Helen. It had been done by a man who had slipped through the cracks of the mental health system. There are many sick minds in need of help, but there had been no one to help him before he got to Helen.

After the case was logged out, though, I knew Starsky was about to crack. I took him back to my place, telling him to stay in the living room while I showered. I half-feared that he would bolt, run away, but when I came out he was still in the same spot on the couch, not moving.

"Hey," I said, shaking his shoulder. He turned to me, startled out of his memories. "Go grab some of your clothes from the bottom dresser drawer and take a shower. It'll make you feel better."

He nodded, slowly, and went to gather up the clothes. When he finally closed the bathroom door, I began my preparation. I was going to fix dinner. Not just any dinner, a special candlelit dinner for the two of us because that's what he needed. I even called his mom to get the recipe for the Paul Muni Special, as she liked to call it. It was a unique time and he needed me to be there, to comfort him and listen to what needed to be said.

He emerged from the bathroom in the middle of my cooking, but said nothing. He just lay back down on the couch, reading the paper to take his mind off the whole situation, and waited for me to tell him how to go on living. I lit the candles soon after.

"Hey, what's the candles for?" Starsky asked. "You expecting someone?"

"Yeah, that's why we're eating early," I laughed, not totally covering my insinuation.

"Oh, what time am I leaving?" he joked.

I didn't respond. I was expecting someone; I was expecting him. That's the only person I wanted to be with tonight and he had to have known it. I let it lie, though. He would pick it up if he wanted to. I simply smiled and told him to eat his vegetables. He gave me his goofy look and swigged his wine.

The food was good. Meat and potatoes complemented by the wine. He was happy, indicating that this was a good plan that I had thought up. I simply nodded, smiling. I wanted to ask about Helen, to let him vent and talk if he needed, but I didn't want to make him sad again, so I stayed quiet. He pushed away from the table finally, after having eaten two plates of food.

"Man," he said, rubbing his stomach, "That was some good stuff. You make it almost like Ma does."

"Glad you approve," I teased, getting up to gather the plates. I took them over to the sink and started running the water to rinse them. I heard him come up behind me.

"Hey," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I left the dishes and turned around. "Thanks." I knew he meant more than that, understood what he was really trying to say.

"Anytime, you know that."

"Yeah, I know. Seems like the only thing I do know for sure lately."

He turned away from me and started walking into the living room. I didn't know if I should follow, so I just waited. Starsky looked at the couch, as if deciding whether he wanted to commit to sitting or standing.

"Helen couldn't cook to save her life, you know," he joked, but lacking any real enthusiasm. He faced me. "Well, you know, she told us. Couldn't cook, at all. That's why we usually went out to dinner all the time." He finally decided the couch was the best option and sank into it. "I thought she loved me."

"She did love you, Starsk," I tried to convince him, coming over and sitting in the chair beside him. "She told you all the time and you were talking about marriage and kids, remember?"

"Yeah, we did," he acknowledged, looking at me. "But then she broke up with me. Why'd she go and do that?"

"I don't know, buddy," I bluffed.

I didn't want to answer that question; we both knew the answer. It was the same reason a lot of women did the same thing time and time again. It all came down to who was sharing his heart and who got the biggest piece of it. Women didn't understand when he left them and came to me. I would always be there, but they felt like it was a competition. It never was, though. The women and I were serving very different needs. I was there for him emotionally and the dates were always about the physical. However, they wanted to serve both roles and that's when Starsky usually rebelled. As soon as Helen learned that, she decided to cut her losses. I knew she regretted it, her friend Cindy had said the same thing, but it was too late for that now.

"Sometimes I feel like it's all worthless, you know?" he broke into my memories. "Like there's no point in even trying anymore." He put his head in his hands, hiding his face from the world.

"Hey," I soothed, moving to the couch and putting my arms around him. "Hey, don't say that." I squeezed just a little, wanting to give him strength through me.

He pulled his hands away, still staring at the floor. "Everyone I love dies. I'm poison. I lost my dad, I lost Helen, I...I almost lost you." He turned to glance at me, eyes not quite sure what he should do.

"But you didn't lose me," I assured him. "I'm right here. Because of you, I'm right here."

"But what about next time, Hutch? What if next time I'm too late, like I was for Helen?"

I gathered his whole body against mine. "Shhh, don't talk like that. You couldn't have done anything for Helen, couldn't have prevented it. It was a bad scene, but you didn't have any control over it." I pulled away from him slightly so I could look into his eyes. "And you can't be afraid of what's looming around the next corner, either. I'm going to be here, with you, as long as I can."

It was bound to happen, but I think it was just as much a surprise to me as it was to him. One minute I'm talking to him, soothing him over the death of his ex-girlfriend, and the next my lips met his and I was pressing forward. I didn't want to break the connection because then I'd have to explain and I wasn't ready for explanations yet, but soon it became evident that I had to do just that. So, I drew back and gauged his reaction. I wanted him to ask the first question, to make the first move, so I waited.

"Wh...Why'd you go and do that for?" he asked, finally.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," I responded lamely.

"That's," he slowly started to smile as he spoke, "the worst line I've ever heard."

"Best one I got."

He sobered. "We...we can't do this," he faltered. "It's too much, too soon."

"Don't worry about tomorrow, just be here today," I assured him. "I just want to take care of you, be here for you. Just let me love you, please?"

"But tomorrow..."

"Don't think about tomorrow, just tonight. No regrets, just us, right here, right now."

He nodded, as if giving consent. I leaned in again, pressing another kiss upon him. He opened his mouth this time, allowing me entrance. I took it, pushing my lips against his mouth as a dying man would search for his life-breath. He willingly accepted the motion, even participating with his own. My hands were on his face, cradling, but they soon found a rhythm of their own, searching, slipping down his face and onto his chest. I could feel his pounding heart, excited by what was happening and scared of the consequences, as well. My hands snaked around to his back, pulling him closer in case he wanted to get away. He made no move to leave, so I pressed onward. I leaned back and pulled him on top of me, tasting the wine and food we had just eaten as my tongue roamed his mouth. I pulled my legs onto the couch and he moved to straddle me. His hands braced each side of the pillow beside my head. I could feel my cock growing harder. I wanted to undress him and take him to the bedroom, but I made no move to overstep my boundaries.

I was soon not in control anymore. He took the lead, becoming forceful in his ministrations, taking my mouth and rubbing his body over mine. The friction of the material was getting us both hard.

"We shouldn't do this," he breathed, pausing between kisses.

"You need this; I need this. Don't analyze it," I responded, pulling him back down for another kiss.

He took my advice and continued to need me. Our arousals were evident, straining under our pants. I felt him filling, growing hard under the movement of our bodies. His kisses grew needier, more brutal, as he took anything I was willing to give him. Soon, he reached the peak and his cock spilled its contents. I continued to trail my hands up and down his back, readying myself for my own release. His body continued to rub against me, increasing the arousal that had gotten me this far. I was soon ready and felt the rush of orgasm and release. I moaned in enjoyment, pulling his body tight against mine.

After ten minutes of silence, though, he began to pull away. It was as if he'd walked out of a haze and remembered where he was and what he had done, because he jolted and began to retreat. I couldn't keep him here; I had to let him go. I had made a promise and he expected me to keep it. I watched him get off the couch and stand, dazed. I stood up to join him, placing my hand on his face to tilt it up.

"I have...I've got to go," he mumbled, pulling away from my touch. He went to the door, his hand on the knob, and I followed. "What we did, it doesn't change anything," he tried to tell me. "I love you and I appreciate what you did for me, making me forget for a little bit, but I don't want it to change anything."

I put my hand over his. "No regrets, I promise. It was just a need, I know. We're partners. Nothing changes that, okay?"

He nodded, head bowed. He quickly made his escape, not saying another word. I wanted him to stay, to remain with me so I could take care of him and protect him. I didn't want him to ever leave, but I had promised that there would be no regrets, no thinking about tomorrow. It was just us, right here, right now.

Soon, though, the realization hit me that I didn't want it to end. I wanted there to be a tomorrow, to remember what had happened and go forward with it. But I didn't know what tomorrow would bring, just the knowledge and memory of tonight.

I went to take another shower, hoping that I would be able to hold onto the feelings in my dreams, if not in reality.

We were supposed to drive in separately in the morning, anyway, so I didn't have to worry about awkwardness in the car. When I got to the station, he was already there. He didn't say anything, so I took his lead. Time passed with both of us working in an uncharacteristic and awkward silence.

As I began typing a report, though, he broke.

"Why don't you just admit it? You're ticked off 'cause of what happened last night," he said.

"No, I'm not," I shot back, trying to get him to drop it.

I went back to the report, questioning him on the color of the car in the smash-up. Apparently, red or orange were nowhere near the color match; it was flamingo. Starsky's mother had a car the same color. Why did I even doubt it?

"You sure it had nothing to do with last night?" he asked again.

"Yeah, I'm sure," I lied, reaching into my desk drawer. He was going to keep pushing over last night, wanting me to admit defeat, so I derailed him. I tossed him a book about training yourself to be right-handed. I always liked to tease him about being a lefty and I figured that if I could get him on that topic, last night would fade into memory.

Dobey ragged us to go out on our beat when we stole his candy bar. The man is on an eternal diet, but he keeps getting bigger. It's all that food he's sneaking. Starsky weaseled his way into getting me to drive for the day, saying he wanted to read the paper's coverage of the Mandalay Heights case. I figured he was doing it so he could keep a watch on me, gauge my reactions to see if I was lying about last night. I wouldn't let it show, though, wouldn't let him see how much last night weighed on my mind.

We were patrolling our beat when we heard the news from the chief's office. Leo Moon, a man Dobey had helped put away, had escaped from prison. We rode over to Dobey's house to tell him. We figured he'd be there since he was getting ready to do a spot on a television show that afternoon. We left his place after we gave him the news, and went to check with one of our snitches, the Fat Man. He'd be able to lead us to Lola, Moon's girlfriend, and we hoped that would lead us to Moon. We got a call from him later in the day and found out Moon had called Lola from an airport.

Afraid for the Dobeys, we went over there to see if all was well. It was good luck that we did because it looked like Moon had already begun his reign of terror. The power had been cut and Edith was screaming her head off because the cop on watch had been killed. After I calmed her down we found out that the phones had been cut, too, and she had been able to get off a shot at Moon. We called it in and I went to take care of Edith and the kids while we waited for back-up.

Dobey got home soon afterward to take care of her and Starsky traced the number we got at Lola's to White Airfield. After a much-needed rest, that was the first place we checked in the morning. C.J. Woodfield had a connection to the plane that carried Moon into Bay City. He had arranged for a long-range flight out of the city at noon, as well. That gave us a tight deadline to catch Moon and tie Woodfield to the whole mess.

Mr. Woodfield called and invited us to breakfast once he heard we were asking around for him. The meeting didn't end well, to say the least. We found Lola over in the warehouse district and she spilled the information on what Moon was planning. Dobey made it out alive and Moon failed miserably.

That still left us with Woodfield to take care of, though. It appeared he wasn't giving up easily because he sent his pilot over to plant a bomb under Dobey's house. Fortunately, we made the connection and got the bomb defused. We arrested him and he sang like a canary, telling us all about how Woodfield was connected to the case. Dobey took great pride in arresting that crooked weasel. For our part, he recommended us for medals.

We were supposed to attend the wedding of my adopted sister the following week. I was even asked to give her away, which meant a lot to me. I did that 'partner' line again when I introduced Starsky to the priest. Why does everyone seem taken aback when I say partner, until they hear the resulting 'we're police officers?' I'll never understand what goes through people's minds sometimes.

Dobey informed us the next day that Ed Jameson, a cop, had been killed on the docks around the same time we had been at the church. Searching the docks, we ran into Billy, Nancy's fiancé. I never felt right about the guy, but I couldn't put my finger on why. Almost getting flattened by a truck didn't do us any good, either. This had become deeper than we thought. We didn't find Banks, the alleged truck driver, at his place, either. All these dead ends were wearing on me.

We headed over to Ezra Bean's place. If stolen goods were going to be fenced, he'd either be the connection or know who was. Unfortunately, Ezra had gotten into the weird world of devil worship as his latest scam. We emphasized that finding the fence was important and that it would be in his best interest to share the information. I only hoped he understood that.

Starsky and I were supposed to eat dinner with Nancy, her mom, and Billy, but he never showed. Banks called and told us to meet him, so we had to leave, too. By the time we got there, though, someone had already gotten to him. He'd been shot and was dying as we questioned him. He told me that something was hitting the docks, but I couldn't figure out what he meant. More dead ends, more leads going nowhere. Then again, the leads might be going in the direction I feared most.

Starsky ran a report on Billy because he had a hunch that he was connected to all of this, because of gum wrappers, stupid gum wrappers folded the same way Billy folded his. I always did have a bad feeling about that guy.

I wanted Nancy to be happy, but it wasn't meant to be. Her supposedly nice fiancé, Billy, was a murderer and a thief that we had to bust. Nancy didn't believe it when we first started investigating him, even told me to stay away from her family. I only hoped that soon she would see that we were right.

Soon after that entanglement, we were attacked by masked men on the docks. What was it about those docks and these attempts to get us killed? Starsky thought I had fallen into the water, so he bravely jumped in after me. Only problem was, I was now up on the docks and he was all wet. I think he was even catching a cold from the shock of it, so I took him home and babied him. I laid him on the couch, covered him up, took his temperature, and even had Dr. Huggy Bear deliver a home remedy while I called around on leads.

The "steel box" that we'd been told was going to come to the docks on Saturday was actually an armored truck full of diamonds. We chased Billy and his crew straight back to Ezra's. I took Billy in with a mixture of pleasure and regret over what he had put Nancy through. Her heart would take a long time to mend, but I was there for her and she knew I'd stick by her if she needed me. She decided that it was best for her to get away for a while, so she went back to Minnesota to clear her head. I told her to call me whenever she felt like it.

The following days were much calmer than they had been. No big cases to speak of, just Mrs. McMillan coming in to report her car stolen again. A nice old lady, but she has the imagination of a child. Starsky was taking her report and promising her a date when Vinnie, one of the guys from my gym, called. He said that John Colby was back in town. That was the best news I'd heard all day.

Colby had gone to the Academy with me and Starsky. We'd been called the Three Corsicans back then, inseparable. Starsky and I had been at a loss as to why he quit the Academy and joined the Air Force, but I guess a cop's life isn't meant for everyone. I was very happy to hear he was back, though. I told Vinnie to keep him there until we got off duty. There was no way that man was going to leave without us seeing him again.

We joked around with him when we got to the gym, teasing and playing just like we always had done. Our laughter soon turned serious, when we found out what Colby had been up to all these years. He had been injured in Vietnam, had been captured and imprisoned in a POW camp for five years. He even had a wife and kid. And now, it seemed as if his wife, who'd remarried, had disappeared off the face of the earth, taking his kid with her. A man deserves the right to see his kid, so we offered to help, but he said he had it under control. I invited him to the party we were having that night and he said he'd think about it. I really hoped he'd come. Be like old times, maybe.

Fifi, my sometimes maid, helped out serving at the party. Good thing, too, because Starsky and I were all tangled up with some girls who showed up. Friends of friends or something like that. Didn't matter, they were there, we were there, that's all that mattered at the time. That's what we were supposed to do, right? Bed women, love women, not pay attention to the other things? Yeah, that's what we were supposed to do.

Anyway, Fifi answered the door when someone buzzed and then started screaming her head off. It was John, all bloodied from being knocked in the head by someone. He had been attacked because of his inquiries about his wife and kid. We had to get involved now; this was much more serious.

The trail of John's attackers led us to a boarding house where John's ex-wife used to live, and then to an empty lot, which was supposedly the address she had left for forwarding her mail. We were getting frustrated, so we headed over to Huggy's to see Colby. We told him about his ex-wife having re-married Warren Karpel, an ex-con before Dobey called us away over a stabbing. Back at the station we found out there was a hit man out to eliminate all the connections to a federal case and a secret witness scheduled to testify on Monday.

Then we got a call about another stabbing, this time a woman, but we couldn't figure out what connection she might have had with the guy killed in the phone booth. I had the feeling we had seen her before, maybe at Huggy's. So, we drove over there to see if Huggy could help us out.

What we found was Colby and Huggy roughed up in the back alley. Huggy wasn't even able to talk. A trip to the emergency room revealed that Colby had minor wounds, and while Huggy would eventually be okay, he wouldn't be able to tell us anything for awhile. Again, this second attack was because of our inquiries about Karpel, according to Colby, and Huggy just got in the way. Isn't that how a lot of things happen? People just get in the way? Too many people hurt by just being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

John and I were sitting in the car waiting for Starsky when it all came apart. Colby pointed out a woman across the parking lot and said it was ex-wife, the woman we'd all been looking for. I decided it would be best if I spoke to her first, so as not to frighten her. When I brought her over to Colby and he turned around to face her, though, she said she'd never seen him before. That's when he knocked me out. The next thing I knew, Starsky was trying to wake me up. Starsky couldn't believe it when I said Colby was a phony, didn't believe me until I told him that Colby was the one that attacked me. Dobey confirmed our worst fears when he told us that our friend, who we'd been duped by this whole time, was actually the professional hit man hired to take out Karpel, the big-shot secret federal witness. John had never been married to Karpel's wife. All of that had been a ploy to get us to do his dirty work for him. And we'd fallen for it.

While we raced to Karpel's beach-house, I told Starsky that Colby was mine. John and I had tense words, almost a final separation speech between the two of us, recognizing we weren't who we once had been all those years ago in the Academy. The Three Corsicans were no more. Now there were only two, the two that mattered.

The uniforms took Colby in their car, which was better than the alternative. I don't think I could ride back to the station with him in the back seat. This wasn't some two-bit punk, this was our old friend. But he wasn't that man anymore, was he? He'd turned cold, separated from the person we once trusted. Maybe he was running away from it all, like he had ran away from the Academy, but what kind of life had he run to? A life of lies, destruction, manipulation of people who trusted him. The man we once knew no longer existed, had been lost, and now a stranger wore his face.

When we got back to the station, after booking Colby, we were supposed to go to Dobey's office to talk. I sent Starsky ahead while I picked up something from our desk. A gorgeous blond asked me where Starsky was and introduced herself as Abigail Crabtree. She said Mrs. McMillan had sent her to take her place on their date. This was the woman who Starsky was supposed to go out with. And knowing Starsky, I knew exactly where that would lead. I couldn't let him do that to her, wouldn't let him love and leave her on a one-night stand. He was too good at that and I would be someone who knew. I told her to wait a minute and I'd see where he was. Then, I went into Dobey's office like nothing had happened.

When I started laughing in the middle of Dobey's conversation, it irritated the captain. But I had to tease Starsky about his waiting date. What I failed to tell Starsky was that the woman waiting for him wasn't anything like Mrs. McMillan; instead, Abby was a gorgeous young woman that he would have loved to meet. The thought of actually having to spend time with a clone of Mrs. McMillan had Starsky in a panic. So, I graciously offered to take his place. That's what partners do; they take care of each other.

Abby and I had a nice date and got along fairly well. She was sweet and I could see myself calling her up from time to time. Later, I dropped her off at her place and wished her a good night before going home. Starsky and I had had an early day of it today and I didn't want to push myself by having to juggle work and a lady in my bed. At least, that was the excuse I used.

I picked up Starsky early in the morning. We had to get to the station to finish up some paperwork, so I was rushing him. That was his excuse for eating sardines for breakfast. The man is going to die if he keeps up this diet. I push him to try healthy foods, but it always comes back to chili dogs and salami and root beer. I'm seriously wondering if he's developed a cast iron stomach to handle all the junk he puts in it.

When we were riding the streets to get a lead on Harry Sample, I convinced him to try some Japanese sushi for lunch. I took that as a wonderful victory even if he did complain about it the whole time and kept saying that he wasn't a fish, so why should he eat like one? I guess he will take a little more convincing to see the advantage of health food over fast food.

After riding around all day trying to find Harry, we finally did. He was in robes and beads and spouting off that he wasn't that person anymore, he was a holy man now. We took him down to the station to interrogate him for assault and battery, but he wouldn't budge. A storm started up outside, which didn't help any, but we were still stuck at the station with him. Hours went by, but he kept on the same track of being an innocent guru and not Harry Sample. We decided to play bad cop/good cop on him with Starsky drawing the bad cop role.

Harry finally broke when we used the old coffee routine. I've got to admit, if I was under arrest and Starsky was interrogating me with his bad cop routine, I'd be scared, too.

Starsky kept badgering me about supper. Like I said, the man lives on his stomach. I was already tired from the long day and didn't want to go traipsing around in the rain, and would just have soon been happy going back to my place and scrambling some eggs. I thought it sounded like a nice idea, a quiet night together, but Starsky wasn't in the mood. He kept pushing to go to that Italian restaurant down by the docks. Finally, I gave in, because it was either give in now or starve, and I was really not in the mood to argue.

I should have resisted more, though. I would have if I had known what was going to happen. We ended up stuck in the middle of a shooting war. A professional killer waiting to make a hit on the mobster Vic Monty recognized me as a cop and got the drop on me. He stuck a gun in my back when I was standing at the jukebox, not paying attention to my surroundings. The other hit-man was supposed to cover Starsky when he came out of the john, but he got trigger-happy when Starsky reached for his gun. All I could see was the slow motion shot of Starsky reeling back from the bullets hitting his body. I ran forward to take care of him, against the wishes of our captors.

I lied to my partner when he asked how it looked. One bullet had creased his skull, but the blood made it look worse than it actually was. The other one, though, that one was bad. I told Starsky that it had found his shoulder, but that wasn't the real truth. The bullet had actually hit him in the back and was dangerously close to his spine. All I could think about was Starsky dying or being paralyzed.

They wouldn't let me take him out and get help, so I had to tend his wounds in the back office. I laid him down on the couch and got the waitress to come help me. I found out her name was Teresa and that she was responsible for getting us into this mess. Teresa had set Monty up because she claimed Vic had had her brother killed. Leave it to us to have the bad luck of getting stuck right in the middle of a shootout when we were just trying to get something to eat.

The younger shooter, Joey, ordered me to come out, so I had to obey. I told Teresa to keep an eye on Starsky and call me if he needed me. Around 11:40 pm she did just that. I came in to see how Starsky was doing and by now he couldn't pick up his left arm anymore. The paralysis was spreading already, from the bullet causing swelling along his spine. I tried to get both our minds off the situation, but it was hard. All I could think about was what would happen if this didn't turn out okay. What if I lost him? It was too much to deal with, so I just didn't. I pretended that we were still working as a team to take down these killers. My plan was for Starsky to wait five minutes and then cause a distraction by throwing a water pitcher against the wall. That way I could get the upper hand. Too bad that failed; it was a good plan.

When I went in to check on Starsky again, I found him on the floor. He thought I had been killed and his first reaction was to get to me. We took care of each other, no matter what. I propped him up and kept asking him about his arm. He was losing more feeling now and I was at the end of my rope. Teresa managed to sneak in the gun from under the cash register, so I finally had a chance to gain the upper hand. I shot both of them and Teresa called the cops to take them away. I sat with Starsky in the back office until the ambulance arrived. He was going in and out of consciousness by the time they got there.

The drive to the hospital was more torturous than the whole standoff. Back in the restaurant, I could concentrate on the gun, the innocent lives, the set-up, anything but the situation with my partner. Now that all of it was stripped away, I had to face what was staring at me. My partner might die, or be injured beyond repair, and all because of a bullet not meant for him.

When they wheeled him into emergency and left me alone in the waiting room, I crashed. I tried to keep my mind off the obviously grim situation. Two trips to the cafeteria and four cups of coffee helped me think about my hunger for a little while, but all the what-if questions were running through my head. The bullet was really close to his spine. What if I jostled it when I carried him into the back room? What if I made it worse and paralyzed him? What if he lost too much blood and died? What if he never made it out surgery? There's always a slim chance in any surgery, but this was serious. I don't know what I would do. I mean, we're separate people, but he's my partner. If I lost Starsky it would be like losing a part of myself and how can you live without a part of yourself? You can't, not really. You could pretend to go on, but you'd only be fooling yourself.

My torture was finally ended when the doctor came through the doors. He looked worn out, not promising in his demeanor. I silently begged for a sign that Starsky wasn't dead, hadn't left me. The doctor soon joined me, sighing. He didn't say anything right away, so I was kept in suspense. He simply nodded for me to sit down so he could speak to me.

"Well?" I asked when we were seated. "What's going on?"

"He's going to be okay," he assured me. "The bullets didn't damage any major organs and you did well to stop the bleeding in time. We had to give him some blood during surgery, but he shouldn't need any more after tonight. He'll be off the streets for a while, but by the New Year he'll be as good as new."

I could breathe again. Starsky was going to be okay. "What about the bullet he took in the back? He was losing feeling in his arm and leg."

"Yes, I know. There was minor swelling in the area and it pushed against the nerves. That's why he lost feeling in his extremities. He'll be fine after some rest." He smiled, as if to ease my tension. "You should go home and get some rest yourself. He's going to be out for the night and you won't be able to see him. We'll set him up in a room; you can come back tomorrow."

"But..." I started.

"You need rest. You've got to keep yourself healthy for your partner. I'll be here in the morning if you have any questions and your partner will be awake by then, so you can see him then."

I had to admit that sleep sounded like a good idea. I was dead on my feet. All day on the streets and all night in the hospital were beginning to catch up with me. I simply nodded in agreement. The doctor went to go fill out some charts and I left for the parking lot.

Driving Starsky's car back to my place, I felt a little less tension than I did on the drive to the hospital. He would be all right with rest. I could stop worrying, stop thinking the worst. But all my tension wouldn't go away until I could see him for myself. I wanted to know for my own self that he was in one piece.

After a dead-to-the-world sleep, I hurried back to the hospital. I didn't want Starsky to wake up alone and not know what was going on. If Starsky knew how fast I handled his car, though, I think he would have stoned me. Then again, he was alive and able to stone me, so it was all right. I soon found directions to his new room from the front desk nurse. He had been taken up to the fourth floor to a private room.

No other visitors were in his room when I slipped in. The lights had been dimmed and the curtains drawn, so I thought he might have been asleep. He soon corrected that thought.

"Hutch, that you?" he asked in a groggy tone.

"Yeah," I whispered, nearing his bed. "Did I wake you up?"

"No, I think the four thousand nurses running in and out of here did that," he tried to joke. "Turn the light on, will you?"

I turned the bedside lamp on and got my first good look at him. His head wound was bandaged and he looked a little pale, probably from the blood loss. They had him on an I.V., but there wasn't a blood bag, so I took that as a good sign. They had him propped up on his side to keep pressure off his back wound.

"How're you feeling?" I ventured.

"Not good," he admitted. "They gave me something to dull the pain, but my whole left side's numb."

"That'll go away," I assured him, pulling a chair near the bed so I could sit and look him in the eye. "The doctor told me so."

"Yeah, I know, I asked the nurse. Still scary, though."

"I know it is." I reached out to touch him, to make sure he was real. "But we got them, Starsk, we won."

"Remind me of that when I feel better," he said, "Because right now I don't feel like I won nothing."

"It's gonna be okay," I promised. "Doctor said you'll be back on the streets after Christmas."

"What a way to spend it, though, laid up after getting shot. I may never eat Italian food again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I warned, joking. "A little pasta primavera and you'll be begging."

"Hey, don't make a guy hungry, huh?" he asked. "All they gave me in here was some runny eggs and milk."

"Make you big and strong," I said. "I would offer to run over to Huggy's to get you something, but he closed shop already."

His left hand dropped of its own volition, since he couldn't feel it. I reached out to hold it. "Yeah, what a crummy time to go out of the restaurant business," Starsky said. "At least he could've waited till after the Christmas rush. What're we supposed to do for Christmas dinner?"

"I guess you'll have to make do with my cooking skills," I teased. "You, me, and a turkey."

"That doesn't sound half bad," he admitted, yawning. "But I haven't even done my shopping yet."

"When you feel up to it, we'll go together." I rubbed my thumb against the hand I was holding. "Right now, why don't you try to get some more rest?"

"You'll be here when I wake up?" he asked.

"Right here," I promised.

"Good," he yawned again. "And think about what you want for Christmas, okay?"

I didn't say anything as I watched him drift off to sleep. I didn't need to think about what I wanted; I had it. All I needed for Christmas was Starsky to be alive and safe. It looked like my Christmas wish had come early this year.

And we did have a nice, happy holiday, too. The doctor released Starsky four days after he was admitted and he was put into my care. He slowly got better each day and on Christmas I made a big dinner with all the trimmings, which made him very happy.

"You're gonna kill me," he complained as he pushed himself back from the table.

"Well, the doctor said you should build your strength back up," I said, smiling. "Besides, no one forced you to have the third helping."

"Yeah, yeah," he laughed. "I think the third time was the last, though. I couldn't eat another thing."

I picked up my plate and took it over to the sink for rinsing. After setting it in the basin, I turned around to pack up the leftovers. We would not go hungry for a long time. Starsky rose from his chair, but his leg gave out a little too soon. Before he came crashing down, I grabbed him by the arm and steadied him.

"Are you okay?" I asked, concerned.

"Yeah," he answered, startled. "Yeah, I think so."

The near fall unsettled him more than anything. The doctor had said that the swelling had gone down, but the circuits sometimes short-circuited. There was no concern that this would be permanent and the doctor assured us that by the time of the next check-up in a week, the incidents would become non-existent, but even on the random times it still happened, it unnerved Starsky.

"Maybe you're just tired," I suggested. "You want to lie down for a while?"

"I guess I should," he said, still not steady.

I took him into the bedroom and helped him out of his pants and shirt. He then lay down on the bed, still unsure. I hated to see Starsky so unsettled by this. No matter how much I reassured him that it was only temporary, that he would be back on the streets after New Year's, he wasn't ready to let his heart accept it. I just wanted him to believe in himself again.

"Do you want me to give you a rubdown? It might help." At the last visit, the doctor had prescribed a massage for Starsky after he had these episodes. He said that the stimulation of the muscles would speed the recovery process.

"Yeah, yeah that might help," he agreed. He turned over so I could have easier access to his back and legs.

I started on his legs, kneading the muscles as I'd been taught. My hands gently worked on his calves, pressing and hoping to stimulate the nerves as the doctor had suggested. Starsky sighed with each touch, relaxing. I moved to his thighs, continuing my ministrations. I rubbed his muscled thighs, sinking my fingers into the flesh and trying to get the circuits back on track. My hand trailed up his buttocks, the thin material of his boxers not easily hiding the toned flesh beneath. I traced soft touches up the back and to the bandage. The doctor would remove it at the next visit since the wound had all but healed. The shoulder bandage had come off soon after Starsky was released from the hospital. My fingers danced around the white material, caressing the skin.

Starsky began moving around, as if to turn over. I allowed him to do that, seeing him fully for the first time since I'd begun. His face was more serene, more settled, than when we'd started. I bent down and kissed his new shoulder scar, where the skin had puckered in a pink line. When my lips met the scar, Starsky gasped. I continued kissing him, dotting his neck with small pecks up to his lips. He willingly opened his mouth for me, urging me onward. I felt his arms encircle me and I was happily encased. I kneaded his torso as I hungered against his mouth. I soon began my oral descent down his chest and belly. I pulled at his boxers, glancing up for his approval.

"Can I?" I begged.

"Yes," he breathed quietly.

I pulled the boxers over his hips and down his legs, discarding them over the side of the bed, not wanting to be bothered with them. Staring at his aching cock, I was ready to take the next step. Gently, I encircled his manhood with my hand, then lowered my lips upon it. I tasted his arousal and played my tongue across his tip. His moans began in earnest and I was encouraged to continue. When I tired of bobbing my head up and down I replaced my mouth with my hand, then pumped him over the edge, making him come quickly. Trailing my fingers up his legs and torso again, I kissed his chest lightly as he began to relax after the orgasm. Laying down beside him, I was content drawing patterns upon his skin. We lay there, relaxed and quiet, for a while. I didn't check the time; I was too engrossed in him. The afterglow was broken only when he shifted.

"I need to take a shower," he complained. The stickiness of the semen that had splashed over his chest and belly was evidently annoying him.

"OK," I managed, not really able to say much more.

Pulling away, he steadied himself as he got off the bed. I watched him walk naked towards the bathroom. I knew we had done something tonight that would impact our future, but I dared not think of how that impact might change us. I was ready to take the next step; it was up to Starsky to accept or reject it. Busying myself with the sheets, I changed them and stripped my own clothes. I would need a shower as well, to clean the remnants of Starsky's semen off of me and to take care of my own need.

Starsky soon emerged from the steam-filled bathroom with a towel wrapped around him. I didn't say anything as I gathered my clothes and took them into the bathroom with me. I could feel him watching me, but what was there to say? It was his move, his turn to do what needed to be done. Anything I said now would be seen as pushing, so it was up to him to confirm or deny the next step.

When I came out of the bathroom, he was lying on the bed, dressed in pajama bottoms and sleeping. I wouldn't awaken him, not now. He needed his rest and I needed my own. We could talk in the morning; that would be soon enough.

Unfortunately, we didn't talk in the morning. We didn't talk about it at all, which made me feel worse. At least if he yelled at me I'd know how he felt, but instead he let the silence fill in where words should have been. During a quiet breakfast of avoidance, Starsky let the bomb drop.

"I think it's time for me to move back to my own place," he said between bites of cereal.

I sat down my coffee mug, shocked. "What? Why?"

"It's time," he said, not looking at me. "I've been getting better and the doctor's gonna release me next visit anyway. I just have to try it out on my own for a while."

"But..." I faltered. "But you're not ready."

He looked up at me. "It's time," he insisted. "I have to sort things out, see how far I need to go...to recover."

"Are you sure? It doesn't mean you have to leave," I almost begged.

"No, I've got to do this, Hutch. I'll still come by here and you can come check on me, but I've got to get on with it by myself for a while."

I couldn't think of anything to say. He was shutting me out again. Well, not really shutting me out, more like re-evaluating our relationship. But what would he discover once he re-evaluated it? Was he willing to accept the passion we kept sharing or would we once again live in denial until the desire became too great again? I couldn't stop him; I had to let him go. But I was never going to be able to understand.

He left right after breakfast; simply packed up his clean clothes and took off. I watched him go, silently willing him to turn around, but he never did.

I called him at night, asked him if I could do anything for him, but I never pushed myself to tell him the truth. I never sought out whatever answer he had reached. I would play it however he wanted to and accept what little he gave because it was his move. I didn't even go with him to the next doctor's visit. He assured me that there was no purpose, that he could do it himself. I silently agreed. And when he said he was coming back on duty on Monday, I simply congratulated him and spoke not a word of my wants, of my lack of understanding. We were partners, but I never ventured into what other meanings that held. I simply accepted what was given to me and worked with it. But inside I knew this was the answer he had been looking for. As long as he separated himself from what had happened, never spoke of it, then it would go away. If only it were that simple. It would never go away, but I would keep myself in a state of denial if that's what he wanted. Maybe the pain would hurt less later, if I convinced myself that the memory wasn't real. He was still my partner, that would never change. I just had to convince myself that it was enough.

~~~

About a week after he went back on active duty, Starsky wanted to take me to breakfast at some diner. He said the waitress' horoscope said she would meet a tall, dark, and handsome man and he wanted to fit the bill. He had gone in there the week before and found out she was into astrology, so he was going to use it to the best of his advantage. This was how it was between us, not speaking of what had happened and just pretending it never did. He had made his choice and I wanted him to be happy. I couldn't regret what might have been because this was who he was. I couldn't expect him to completely change himself for me. He needed to be free to choose who he wanted and right now that included a waitress who was his supposed destiny.

Starsky was disappointed to learn that the waitress had a boyfriend already, an armored truck guy named Harry. She was worried because he hadn't shown up at his regular time for breakfast at the restaurant. Being the gentleman that he is, Starsky agreed to check on the missing man, and took me along for the trip. We found Harry, all right, but he was dead by the time we got there.

After talking to Harry's boss, we began to put the pieces together; it was beginning to look like a similar crime that had happened in Detroit with another armored car heist. We got a list of stops that Harry's truck was scheduled to make and were able to get to each one ahead of time. That's how we managed to keep the hostage driver, Tom, informed of the circumstances. The bad guys were set to hurt his wife, so we had to step lightly. When we went to check Tom's house, on the off chance the wife was still there, we found out that she'd been kidnapped.

The next-door neighbor's kid, though, was one observant child. We took her down to the station and she identified the lone female kidnapper as Belle Kates. Belle was a madam who still ran the ladies, but we didn't know where her latest house was. A quick conversation with Huggy reminded us that Sweet Alice used to be managed by Belle.

After we got the information we needed from Sweet Alice, we were ready to head out. When I paused to adjust her shoulder strap, her melancholy expression made it seem as if I had just given her the most precious gift. It wasn't hard to take a little time with her, because I still believed she could be saved. She always called me Handsome Hutch, every time we saw her. It was her nickname for me and I thought it was special. It symbolized our relationship in a way.

"Hutch, one of these days, I'm gonna go straight. And when I do, I'm gonna catch you," she said, wistfully.

"You do that," I said, smiling, "and I just might let you."

There's a lot to be said of Sweet Alice. She was a beautiful Southern lady. I never asked how she got into prostitution, never focused on the bad crowd she had fallen into. She always seemed to want to live up to what I thought she could become, though. She wanted to shine in my eyes and make me proud of her. I knew she could make it out; the question was when was she going to take the final step and do it. And even if she made it out, I wasn't going to be her knight in shining armor. It was best she lived with the fantasy because the reality was too bleak to think about. So she stayed in and I kept playing along, making the motions without meaning them.

After leaving Sweet Alice, we followed up on the address she gave us. Belle had moved from there, but we got another lead on the moving company she'd used. We traced her address through them. We took down the kidnappers there and rescued Tom's wife, but we still had to get to the armored truck and Tom.

We set up on a corner right after the truck's last scheduled drop off. Starsky shot the armored truck's tire out while I played the bystander. After a quick undercover mission at the warehouse, where Starsky and I assumed the roles, and uniforms, of the security guards, we were able to take down the entire operation. Not bad for four hours work.

As always in police work, one case goes down and another pops up. When you're on night shift, though, it's even worse. But, you have to work when the schedule says, and it said we were due to patrol our beat in the middle of the night. It was even worse because Starsky wasn't in the best of conditions. He picked me up in front of my house. However, he had developed a toothache during my short absence.

"Ouch!" he complained while braking at a stoplight.

"Too much candy, I always told you," I teased him. "You eat enough sugar and you're bound to end up with cavities."

"It's not..." he sucked in air, "it's not a cavity. I just got a little ache, that's all." The light turned green and he took off again. "Besides, a few candy bars never killed nobody."

"Famous last words," I said, eying him. "And if your tooth hurts, why didn't you go to the dentist today? We didn't have anything else planned."

"Don't need no dentist. It'll go away after a while."

"Or when your teeth fall out. Same difference," I taunted, looking out the window.

He ignored me, like always. "Hey, you hungry?"

I looked over at him, not quite believing it. "We've been in this car less than ten minutes and you wanna stop to eat already?"

"You know I can't work when I'm hungry. And besides, there's nowhere we gotta be. It's just patrol."

I don't know why that made sense to me, but I was soon sitting in the front seat scarfing down a greasy dinner just because Starsky was hungry. Funny how he can talk me into things I never thought I wanted. Before last year, I didn't think I'd be sitting here letting a memory of our failed sexual endeavors slowly fade away until I couldn't discern what was real from what I had just wanted it to be.

It was a short-lived break, like all our meals; we got called in on a domestic. Scene wasn't too ugly when we got there, though. The guy sped off before we could get him, but I caught his license plate, so I could run a match. I thought it was 259 PCE, but Starsky kept saying that it was a B, not an E. I'd split the difference and run them both, just in case.

When we got inside we found Mrs. Vic Rankin was the victim of the fight. Her husband, Vic Rankin, was a famous musician. I bought all his records in high school, looked up to him a little. But now, he owed the wrong people money, a guy by the name of Gil White. A man can get pretty angry when $2,000 has been stolen from him and White was no exception. White's boys believed Vic Rankin stole the $2,000, and Mrs. Rankin did, too. White owned a jazz club across town, GW's, as good place as any to start.

Unfortunately, it wasn't anywhere to start. White claimed that the stolen money was all a big misunderstanding and he wasn't worried about it anymore. He was willing to forget a $2,000 loss. That didn't make any sense at all.

Three poker games looking for Rankin and we turned up nothing. The fourth one turned up no game, just a guy with a bullet to the gut. One witness said Rankin shot the victim, so the trail now led to more unanswered questions.

"Caught him playing with queer," the witness told us.

"With _who_?" I stumbled over the words. It threw me for a loop for a minute. I tried to quickly cover myself when I realized what he'd meant. "Oh, _counterfeit_." That would have been the highlight of my day, to have to deal with that issue in the middle of this case.

The pieces were beginning to connect. Rankin was betting with counterfeit money, which he had supposedly stolen from White, but that was being denied now. This chain of events sent us back to Mrs. Rankin's again to see if we could get any more information from her on where Vic might have gone. I must've come across as pretty insensitive when I acted like she didn't care whether her husband came out of this alive because she slapped me. I was pushing, I admit that, but loyalty between husbands and wives used to mean something. Loyalty between spouses and lovers and friends were the only constants in life sometimes, so if she wasn't showing any of that, what kind of life did Vic really have? She would rather see him dead than try to save him one more time.

Luckily, we got a break when Vic called her while we were still there. We couldn't get him to tell us where he was, but his wife told us about Belinda Williams, a singer who'd once headlined his band. Now she had gotten heavy into drugs, according to Mrs. Rankin, and she was a good bet as to where we might find Vic. We chatted up Huggy at the club for her location. He didn't know, but a hooker he knew called Little Orphan Annie, did.

It was a good tip, but a bad scene. We heard shots fired as we arrived, but I returned fire and took down one of the shooters. I left Starsky with him while I chased the second one. I lost him, though. Starsky was on the phone calling for a black and white when I got back to the apartment. Belinda was in the middle of the bed, chewing on a hangnail, strung out. I had to turn away, couldn't stand to look at her. She was what I used to be, what I might still be if things had been different. I had someone to lean on, sweat it out with. Who did she have? Nobody, no one cared enough to help her out.

"Need a fix pretty bad, huh, Belinda?" I asked.

"What would you know about it?" she shot back.

I didn't say anything, Starsky didn't say anything, but we both knew that the memories of that ordeal would never leave us. What did I know about needing a fix? A whole lot more than I ever wanted to, that was for sure.

Belinda started talking about Vic Rankin, trying to downplay how much he meant to her, but I could see it. She still cared for him, she wanted him to be safe, but now he was out wandering the streets, injured, and she didn't have a clue where he might have run to.

I couldn't leave her like that, not without making some effort to let her forget her pain for a little while, so before we left I gave her some cash. She needed to die a little, had to escape from her reality for a few hours. Sometimes that's the only thing you could do.

Starsky stood silently at the door, watching. I knew he wanted to say something, but he kept his mouth shut until we got to the stairs.

"How stupid was that, giving her money?" he spat. "You know what she's gonna use it for. All you did was feed her addiction."

"What's the alternative?" I asked, walking towards the stairs.

"Get her clean, get her out of that hole she's living in."

"Starsk," I said, turning towards him and stopping our progress. "Today's not a day for saving the world. Right now, she just needs to forget it all for a little while."

"She's never gonna change, you know? They never change."

"Some of us do," I pointed out, turning my back on him and walking down the stairs.

"You know I don't mean you," he backtracked. "You're not like them."

"Used to be," I reminded him.

We fell silent as we emerged from the building. As much as he wanted to make me the exception to the rule, I still had the memories of what it had felt like. The need, the want, the hunger. I had been a _junkie_ and for the rest of my life I'd never get past that.

We dropped it and went to roust White's office. He was still playing coy, not giving us anything, but we assured him that his lies wouldn't stand for long. We went outside to stake out White in case he made a run for it. Huggy called us right in the middle of our pointless watch, so Starsky wanted to bribe a bystander to do our work at White's. I flattened the tire to White's Rolls Royce and Starsky got a street cleaner to keep a watch on it for us. The cleaner wet my partner in a pretty embarrassing place during the discussion, though, which did not escape Huggy's attention once we got there.

"Starsky, you didn't have to rush so fast and get your clothes wet."

Starsky acted oblivious, but I took a good look at Huggy. He knew something, something about us, and that comment wasn't as innocent as Starsky thought it was. We would have to have a talk with Huggy soon before he jumped to conclusions. Well, I'd have to have a talk with Huggy since Starsky was not going to talk about something like that at all. If he wouldn't talk to _me_ about, he wouldn't be talking to anyone else, either.

Huggy sent us to the Mardi Gras Ballroom. Rankin's car was outside, along with some blood. Inside the ballroom Rankin lay passed out. We called it in and got an ambulance. Rankin didn't come to until after we got him to the hospital. One of the first things we had to tell him was that his wife had been kidnapped. Vic was more than ready to offer himself up for trade so that no harm would come to his wife. He loved her, probably more than she loved him. He was willing to offer his life for hers, a fair trade. He didn't want to hear that the odds were against him, that it was likely that both he and his wife would end up dead when this was all over. All he cared about was making the effort, at least trying to save her. She had saved him so many times before, it only seemed fair.

Reluctantly, we drove him back to the Mardi Gras Ballroom, even though we knew that this wasn't going to end with White surrendering Mrs. Rankin. We expected a gunfight and Starsky wanted a quick end to this so he could get me to take him to the dentist. The man was stubborn, but he knew I was right.

And it was over soon enough. A standoff, a shootout, and Starsky was left to take down White on his own while I dealt with his accomplice. It was too bad that when White knocked Starsky's tooth out in the fight it was on the wrong side of his mouth. It would have saved him a whole lot of money. Vic was reunited with his wife and all seemed to turn out well. I was wrong about the two of them. When it came down to it, she really did love him. We all needed that in our lives, someone to love us and stand by us through everything that went wrong. I had that, too. I just forgot it for a while.

The judge put some stipulations on Vic's freedom, but a call in to Huggy made sure he would at least have a job to get himself back on the straight and narrow. And like a good partner, I took Starsky's battered self to the dentist and stayed with him after they filled his tooth. I teased him when the dentist told him that it was a cavity and that it was probably due to sweets. That ticked him off. When we went out with Vic Rankin and his wife to see him play later that night, Starsky was still loopy from the dentist's drugs, so I wasn't surprised when he prattled on like he did. But finally I reached my limit and told him to shut up and listen to the music. That ticked him off even more, so the icy goodbye I got when he dropped me off was my own fault.

I invited Starsky over for a quiet dinner, just the two of us, to make up for my teasing. It was a nice thought, but I guess I pushed my luck when I decided I would make him something healthy.

"What is that?" Starsky asked with disgust as he pointed at the main dish.

"That," I said, spooning out some of the contents on a plate for him, "is lasagna."

"No," he drawled as I sat the plate in front of him. "That is not lasagna. I don't see any meat and that cheese don't look normal."

"It's spinach and lentil lasagna, Starsk," I said as I spooned out some for myself. "Whole wheat noodles, goat cheese curds, lentils, cheddar, tomato sauce, spinach, and spices." I took a sip of my red wine. "Good for you."

"Ugh!" he groaned, pushing away his plate. "How can you ruin lasagna?"

"I didn't ruin it," I said, defensively. "I made it better, healthy." I took a bite of my serving. "Oh, that's so good."

"You can have it," he said, rising from the table. "I need real food." He began searching through my sparse refrigerator. "Hey, you don't have any food in here!"

"I know that," I said between bites. "I used up everything for this meal."

He looked back at me over the open refrigerator door. "What are you gonna eat for the rest of the week?"

"I'm fasting," I said, calmly.

"Fasting?" he asked, shutting the door. "You mean you're not gonna eat for the rest of the week?"

"Not for forty hours, anyway. I'm just going to drink water and purify myself."

"So you invite me to dinner when you're about to go on a fast and there's no food around?" he asked, frustrated, as he resumed his seat.

"I made food; you just don't like it," I said, still eating.

"That's not food," he argued. "It's...not."

"You know, it's a fact that vegetarians live five years longer than those who eat regular diets."

"If I had to eat junk like that I wouldn't wanna live five more years."

"You're just mad because I'm right," I teased, taking the last bite of my meal.

"No, I'm mad because you invited me over here and now I'm gonna starve to death."

"Starsky, it wouldn't hurt you to eat some of this," I said, pointing to the dish. "Health food has never killed anybody."

"Not yet," he huffed. "But I ain't about to be the first test subject to prove that theory wrong."

And so ended my argument. It was more than frustrating having to deal with Starsky's logic, so often I would just give up. That seemed a better solution than fighting with him and still having to give up in exasperation two hours later.

"Fine, you don't have to eat it," I said. "But there's nothing else here."

"It's okay, I was gonna leave early anyway," he said, rising. "I'll just grab a pizza when I get home."

"Why were you gonna leave early?" I asked. "If it's about the food, you can order a pizza here, Starsk."

"Nah, that's not it," he said, smiling. "I gotta run errands tomorrow before work and I'm still not ready for the night shift. Gotta get my beauty rest, you know."

"Like it'll help," I snorted, getting up to join him. "You're welcome to stay here tonight, though. Thought you might wanna watch the Creature Feature since your TV's still broken."

He looked at me, but didn't say what I wanted to hear. "Nah, you go start your fast. Purify yourself. You don't need me around bothering you."

"Oh," I faltered. "Um, okay. But remember tomorrow afternoon. We have to be on duty by four."

"I won't forget," he assured me, opening the front door. "Four o'clock."

I watched him go out of sight before I shut the door. Purification of all sorts was starting tonight, I guess. My plans for the evening just went out the door in search of pizza, leaving me with cold lasagna and a glass of water. That was not the trade I was hoping to make. It wasn't like I was expecting something to have changed, because it hadn't. I just thought we could go back to how things were before, without all the tension of what it all meant. He used to stay over and watch the late night movies, didn't even need a broken television as an excuse. But now, he seemed to be weighing every action and deciding what it would mean. How could we just forget about the past and move on if he kept bringing it up with every decision he made differently?

~~~

We were scheduled to work the night shift for a week and we should've been used to it by now, since we often pulled the late shift, but it still wasn't any more appealing. And we had to deal with Larry, a deaf-mute who dragged us into a case bigger than just some stolen candy. We got called to a robbery in progress and followed the guy across town to the Dismas Center. Who should we find in the basement but our favorite candy thief. We took Larry back upstairs and questioned Father Ignatius on the rest of the people who lived there. We knew it wasn't Larry or his friend RC, but it might have been someone else hiding out who was our robber. Larry went home with RC. His friend was less than fond of cops. In fact, he hated them. Some cops had worked him over in prison, causing him to lose his hearing.

All our leads kept going right back to the Dismas Center, our newest suspect included. And not only that, all our leads kept getting us right back to Larry. We didn't think it was him, but it was someone close to him. RC hated cops, but he loved his friend enough to know we wanted to help Larry. He brought up the one possibility we had ignored, the one guy Larry would trust enough to believe that his involvement in the crimes would get him into trouble. Father Ignatius was as fake as a counterfeit bill and was determined to make Larry his scapegoat. He almost got away with it, but when you're impersonating a priest you've killed, it's best to make sure you pick one that's closer to your age. He went to jail and Larry went back to business with RC, ending our tour of night shift.

To celebrate the end of both my fast and our night duty, Starsky and I went to a wrestling match. Well, it was more for him than me; I find wrestling matches to be all show and mirrors. Starsky didn't believe me when I said it was fake, that anyone could be taught to make it look real. To prove my point, after the match, we went into the empty ring, and I wrestled Starsky to the mat. All he could do was yell that I was breaking his leg.

We were still joking around in the ring when our old friend, Mac, joined us. We liked Mac and visited him whenever we made it by the arena. He used to walk the beat around the area before he left the force. He still dabbled in police work, though, and told us to meet him the next morning to talk about a lead he might have on a suspicious death.

Unfortunately, Mac never made it to that meeting. He'd taken a tumble down the stairs over by one of his hot dog stands. We were sure that there was a connection between what Mac was going to tell us and his untimely death, we just had to find out what it was.

We suspected Eddie, a young wrestler appearing at the stadium, could help us out unless _he_ was the perpetrator. After Eddie almost choked me to death, though, I was ready to give up wrestling all together. He had a temper, but I just couldn't figure him as a murderer. We had to keep looking. Good thing we did, too, because Eddie was innocent. It was all about taking control of the arena's cash flow and the lucrative concession contracts.

Saturday we couldn't even get the day off. The Feds had brought us in on a stakeout that was supposed to bring in a felon named Nick Dombarris on a stolen goods charge. We were planning on catching him in the act. It was a charge we could make stick, unlike the real crime he was committing, dealing drugs. Starsky couldn't go out with some new girl he had picked up, either. We were told to wait, but when you've got Jojo Forentic in your sights and he's about to rape an innocent woman, that's not something Starsky and I can do.

We busted in at top speed, stopping Jojo's assault, but Dombarris got away because our appearance exposed the stakeout. It didn't make the Feds happy, but we'd stopped Jojo from raping the receptionist. What we didn't count on, though, was that the girl we saved wouldn't testify in court against Jojo. I could understand her fear, but it didn't help us build a case against Jojo. We had to find one of his other victims to testify. We talked with another of his victims before finally meeting up with Linda Mascelli. She agreed to testify, but not before throwing Starsky halfway across the room when he came up behind her and startled her. I tried not to laugh, but his bruised pride was no match for my sense of humor.

My amusement was short-lived once we found out that the Feds had released Jojo in the hopes of nailing Dombarris by using Jojo as their mole. Leave it to the Feds to bait a hook with a piranha. So he was back out on the streets and we were left to catch up, make sure he couldn't hurt anyone else. We told the Feds that they couldn't expect to put someone like Jojo back in circulation and expect him to play nice, but we were warned that if we interfered in their operation, we'd be reprimanded.

Even though the Feds told us to stay away from Jojo, Starsky and I felt a friendly visit with our favorite neighborhood rapist was a good idea. We warned him that he was to stay away from Linda Moscelli or else some very bad things would happen to him. And he listened, in his own way. He went after Dombarris' old girlfriend, instead. Not the greatest way to prove we were right.

Starsky had been calling Linda all day to warn her that Jojo was out of jail, but we'd never been able to reach her. By nightfall, we decided to stakeout her place until she got back.

What we found, though, was a murder scene. It looked like someone had beaten Jojo to death. The Feds were convinced Linda was responsible and arrested her. She had no alibi. She claimed she'd been walking alone on the beach the whole time, and no one had seen her. We finally gave up in frustration.

The next morning we went around to see Huggy; maybe he knew something about Dombarris' dead ex-girlfriend. He gave us a lead on the orange car, what he and Starsky called, inexplicably, a "short," that we had seen at the stakeout when we busted Jojo. Starsky was convinced his mechanic could help us.

Obviously, I don't speak "car" because a conversation with Merle the Earl is like speaking Chinese. We finally got him to point us to the home of the car owner, who lived in a trailer park behind Merle's shop. After we busted Dombarris' flunky, he admitted that Dombarris had ordered Jojo killed after Jojo had done the dirty work of killing Dombarris' ex-girlfriend. Even after all these years of seeing the depths of human degradation, it still sickened me to see how little a person's life could mean to someone else. To criminals like Dombarris, that woman's life was nothing but a worthless impediment to his own greed. Life was a real downer sometimes.

And, apparently, life wasn't going to get much better for me, either. Kiko, the young boy I acted as a "Big Brother" to, and I were supposed to go on a mini-camping trip together. Nothing big, just a day out fishing and a night under the stars. I'd been his Big Brother since he'd been ten and he'd always liked going fishing. This time, however, he never showed up. Thinking he might have been sick, I went around to see him. His mom told me that Kiko no longer wanted me for a Big Brother. She didn't know why, but he'd said that he no longer needed me. Not one to take second-hand knowledge for fact, I decided to find out for myself. Starsky had been too tired to drive back from the station the night before, so we'd left his car there and I dropped him off at home. After picking Starsky up, we started looking for Kiko, even though Starsky protested.

Kiko was over by one of the canals with a few of his friends. They weren't the best crowd for him to be with. Starsky stayed in the car while I talked to Kiko. He was growing up and his crowd of friends didn't approve of him hanging around with a cop. I was disappointed and told him so, but I never said that he was making the wrong choice. He had to discover that on his own. After two years in a relationship, you hope the other person will make the right decision. I had to believe that he would eventually do that.

Starsky and I went to the station and found out that Dobey had given us the West Side Striker case since this dangerous home-invader had moved into our beat. He had been busy, terrorizing and burglarizing low-income apartments in a depressed part of town.

We went out on patrol after sunset in Starsky's car. Starsky could tell that I was still miffed about Kiko. He tried to get me to forget my disappointment, but he didn't succeed. We were called to a disturbance at Packrat's place, so our conversation was cut short. We heard gunshots as we arrived and after a dangerous shooting match we busted in. The shooter had fled the scene and Packrat was dead. While I was trying to find the phone in that chaotic place to call it in, Starsky was picking up random objects. He found a bracelet and seemed puzzled by it. So was I when I got a good look at it. It was real gold, according to Starsky, and the inscription made him believe it belonged to someone named Sharman Crane. She had been a model back in New York who had disappeared six months ago. Starsky had ties to her; she'd gone to junior high school with him back in New York, and he'd had a huge crush on her back then before she became famous.

By the time we finished processing the scene our shift was over. Starsky was still in his own world over discovering Sharman's bracelet, and I was still peeved about Kiko, so we bid our farewells at the station.

The next day, Starsky was adamant about investigating Sharman's whereabouts. That was a cold case, so Dobey ordered us to make the Striker our top priority. Later on, though, we got a call from the hooker, Little Orphan Annie, about Sharman Crane.

Little Annie told us she'd seen Sharman Crane in the bar that night. She said Sandy, her dog, had pulled a hotel key out of Sharman's purse. The key was for the Hotel Leland, which wasn't the greatest dive in the area. We went there and found the door. However, before we could knock, we heard screams and then someone shot at us. What is it with doors and our being shot at? I didn't need this. We made sure we weren't injured and then busted in.

I went after the guy who escaped through a window. The gun battle was pointless. He got down the fire escape and drove off in a car with a license plate that read HJF562, which I kept repeating to myself when I came back into the apartment. Paying no attention to Starsky, I went to find a phone. After calling it in, I gave them the license number to run, then went back to find out what Starsky was up to. He was up to a lot. He was holding down a drunken Sharman on the bed while she resisted.

To see a childhood idol fall like that had to be hard on Starsky and I could feel the pain he was going through. What I didn't see coming was his resistance to bringing her to the station. She was a material witness who needed to be in the drunk tank, but all he saw was sweet Sharman Crane who we had to protect from the media. My protests did no good and I finally had to give in. I would cover for him, he knew that, but I didn't know if it would be worth it in the end.

When Dobey asked me, I told him that Starsky had gone home sick. Starsky finally called in and supported my lie, too.

I worked silently through the rest of the shift. When it was over, I didn't know what to do with myself. Starsky had made his choice and I was alone. So, I called Abby. I didn't want to treat her like a substitute, but I couldn't help but feel that this was exactly what was happening. I couldn't have Starsky, so I settled for her.

The next morning I slept in while she went out on errands. She came back with some clothes for Sharman. She had to guess at the sizes, but the thought was touching. Abby understood my need for Starsky's well being, but she knew that I loved her. That was what counted to her.

Starsky called in sick again, but Dobey saw right through it. He decided he was better off not knowing, so I played along. It was better for me to work alone than to have my partner only half there. I finished some reports before taking a break and heading over to Starsky's house. The clothes Abby had picked up for Sharman was my excuse for going over there. I wanted to check on his patient, but even more so, I wanted to check on him.

Starsky was still despondent and too focused on Sharman's problems, not listening to what I was really saying. I was trying to pin him down, get him to take her in and look at mug books so we could catch this guy. He only wanted to talk about her tragedies. I could see where this was going but I wanted to deny it as long as possible. He was falling in love with her and running as fast as he could away from me.

Finally, he stopped his banter and looked at me, as if he now understood that I was accepting the truth.

"You understand what's happening?" I asked, wishing he would deny it.

"Yeah," he said softly.

"I sure as hell wish there was a way to get help," I admitted. We weren't talking about Sharman and we both knew it. I held his gaze for a few more seconds before half-hugging him and making my retreat. He had chosen yet again and I wasn't the one who came out on top.

I went to Abby again that night. This time there was no lingering doubt in my mind. Starsky had shut the door on my hopes and I was going to move on. Why should I hold on to a pipe dream? We had a certain kind of relationship and that wasn't going to change. Abby loved me, I loved her, so there was no reason for us not to be happy. No reason, except one and he had made his choice, too. Partners take care of each other, even when it hurts.

Huggy met me at the station in the morning. He had an informant who could possible help us crack the case. The Texas Kid had introduced his friend Verne to Packrat and he had the suspicion that Verne was the man we were looking for. Vern was staying at the Western Motel over by the railroad tracks. I called Starsky and told him to meet me there. His lack of attention made me realize that he was trying to go further with Sharman than I was willing to admit. He agreed to meet me and he did just that. We ransacked the room, but Verne wasn't there. We did turn up Starsky's book, which we didn't realize had gone missing from the station. Since his home address was on the inside cover, he feared the worst about Sharman. A phone call to his apartment went unanswered, so we drove over there. Vern and his girlfriend were both there, trying to kill our only witness, Sharman. They nearly succeeded, but Starsky pulled Sharman to safety as I went after Verne, shooting him.

Once the area was secured, Starsky drove me back to get my car. Sharman was sitting between us, so we couldn't really talk, but he assured me that he was taking her home that afternoon and that he'd see me at my place that night.

True to his word, he did. We acted like everything was normal. I played guitar while he talked to his mother on the phone. Kiko even came over to apologize and asked me to be his Big Brother again. I happily took him back. Things change, people change. I held on to one and accepted the other.

~~~

Starsky had to go into the hospital at the first of March for three days. He drove himself there, too, being his strong-willed self. He had come down with a virus and gotten dehydrated. I wasn't able to tend to him. The man will never learn to take care of himself. I felt guilty because I had been with Abby instead of taking care of Starsky while he was sick, but how can you honestly take care of someone who yells at you that he's fine and can handle it on his own? Goes to show you how wrong he was.

In his absence I worked on a jewelry case. I didn't mean to get involved with it; it just happened. I'd been tracking a fence on an old case and he had a connection with a robbery and homicide that had happened in Dallas the week before. It all involved a seventy-carat diamond that disappeared after the robbery. While we got the fence and the jewel thieves, we never found the rock. The Feds wanted to take the case, anyway, since it crossed multiple state lines, so I let it go without regret. I was supposed to pick up Starsky at the hospital by the time I finished the reports, anyway.

I convinced Starsky to let me drive him home. There was no need for him to be bull-headed and independent about it anymore. So, he gave in and left his precious car in the hospital parking lot. I promised that we'd come back in the morning and get it. One day wasn't going to make much difference one way or the other. The drive was quiet, either because we were both tired or because we lacked anything to say. I pulled up in front of his apartment and he turned to gaze at me, nodding towards the stairs. He wanted to talk, deciding now was the perfect opportunity. Why now, I didn't know, but I followed him up. If nothing else, I could make sure he was really okay after his hospital stay and see that he got to sleep at a normal hour.

He unlocked the door and motioned me in. The apartment wasn't in terrible disarray since I made it a habit to come over and make sure everything was okay during his absence. I'd sorted his mail and taken care of his plants. He was home now, though, and had no need for me anymore. I was slowly coming to realize that in certain areas of his life, he didn't need me as much as I wished he did.

"You want a drink?" he asked, moving towards the kitchen.

"No, I really shouldn't," I said, brushing him off. "I'm dead tired and I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I left."

He turned around, not making it to the fridge. There was a question in his eyes and I could see his mind working overtime. I was waiting for it to come, since I knew it would, but I had to be strong. I'd made my decision, we both had, and now we had to stick to it.

"How's Abby doing?" he asked, completely taking me off-guard.

"She's fine," I answered, hesitating.

"Got off to her friend's house okay?"

"Left before I went to the hospital. Why?"

"I thought since it's so late and you're already here...I thought you could stay tonight," he began.

I couldn't let him convince me. If I gave in, I would end up giving him anything he wanted even though I knew that tomorrow it would mean nothing different. "No, I can't." I tried to sound forceful, but all I heard was need. I had to get away from him before all my walls crumbled again.

"You can't or you won't?" he asked, edging closer.

Neither answer would suit him, so there was no reason to lie. "Both. You think just because she's not around to find out, everything's different? You're my best friend, my partner, and I can't let you break my heart over and over just because you want me to be there for you once in a while."

"I don't want to break your heart, Hutch," he said, softly. "I just want you to be with me tonight."

"And tomorrow you'll wanna act like it never happened...again."

"I thought you said don't think about tomorrow," he reminded me.

"I tried to convince you of that, but I couldn't even convince myself." I glanced away, not allowing myself to be drawn into his gaze. "Abby loves me and she's not ashamed of me."

"I'm not ashamed..." he tried to break in, but I wouldn't let him.

"I finally found someone who would stick around for more than a night and now you want me to forget all about that for one more night. I want you to be happy and I want to take care of you, but I was making myself miserable over wanting something that's never gonna happen."

"Don't say never," Starsky said.

I looked up. "And don't say maybe. I can't live with any more dashed hopes. I offered you my heart. I don't have any more to give."

"What are you saying?" he asked, warily.

"I'm saying..." I paused to draw a breath. "I'm saying you're my partner and that's enough. It was enough before and it can be enough again. Neither one of us should have to change for the other, so let's not pretend anymore."

"If that's what you want...."

"It's what we _need_," I assured him. "And right now, you need rest." I smiled at him. It would be all right. "I'll pick you up in the morning to get your car, okay?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to fake a smile. "I'll see you in the morning."

I turned to go, giving him a final nod. We had to learn to be who we were and not try to be who we weren't. Wasn't that the right thing to do? Wasn't that what was best? I didn't know, but anything was better than the limbo that we had been in. We had to stand strong and not let ourselves slip back into a need we couldn't afford.

I drove home and went straight to bed, alone in the cold darkness.

The phone ringing woke me. The clock read 3:58AM. Who could be calling me at such an inhumane hour? Whoever it was, they'd better have a good reason for it. I reached for the phone blindly, fumbling to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?" I asked groggily. "Hello? Who is this?"

There was silence on the other end. Well, not really silence, more like heavy breathing. I was about to hang up, put it off to some prank caller, when the two most chilling words came over the line. Starsky's voice saying simply, "Hutch...help."

I called out, willing him to say more, but he had dropped the receiver.

I had to get there, get to him. I didn't know what was wrong or what would await me once I got there. All I knew was that I had to get to his place right that instant. I hardly remember much between the time I hung up the phone and when I was pulling up in front of Starsky's apartment. My mind wasn't concentrating on anything but Starsky. I raced up the stairs and fumbled for my key. I finally got it into the lock and opened the door. I called his name into the dark apartment, but there was no answer. I ran towards his bedroom, my stomach in knots. I saw him, lying by the bed, tangled in his sheets. The phone receiver still lay beside him, the pulsing signal taunting the air.

At first I was frozen, unable to breathe. I whispered his name, but he didn't answer. I dashed to his side, afraid that I would find a lifeless body. I touched his face, cradling his cheek. He was still breathing. I released my own breath in relief.

My mind went into automatic. I put the receiver back, then called for an ambulance. I turned back to Starsky. Pulling him into my arms, I called his name over and over. He never answered me, or made any indication he even knew I was there. It was almost as if he were asleep and didn't want to wake up. Could I just pretend? Could I imagine that he was all right and sleeping his deep slumber like usual?

The ambulance finally arrived and the attendants entered the apartment. I yelled for them, but never let go of him. As I helped them get him on the gurney, I had to admit that I had no idea what was wrong with him. I didn't know what was wrong, I didn't know why he wouldn't wake up, I wasn't sure how long he had been like this. _Help him, that_ was my only clear thought. Help him wake up, get better, be with me again. The attendants rolled him out the door and carried him to the ambulance. Why didn't they understand? This was important, so why were they moving in slow motion?

I rode with him on the ambulance, steadying my nerves by keeping his blankets tucked tightly around him. Starsky hated to be cold, so I couldn't have him waking up in a strange place cold. He would be all right, once the doctors looked at him. When we finally arrived at the hospital I yelled for the doctor. The nurses soon separated me from Starsky, against my wishes. They said I would have to go to the waiting room, then turned and let the doors swing shut in my face. We were separated, alone, and neither of us knew what was going to happen. If I had given in and stayed with him like he wanted, this never would've happened. I chose to stay away and that choice might cost him his life.

I was afraid to wander, to go too far, in fear that the doctor would emerge and I wouldn't be there to hear the news. I circled the coffee machine, using its strong brew to wake me out of this dream. It didn't work. I was still alone and in fear of what might happen to Starsky. Time had no meaning. All I could do was pace, gulp coffee, and pace some more, while glancing nervously at the ER doors.

Finally, at 8:15AM, the doctor came out. I rushed over to him. He said that Starsky was awake, but told me that Starsky had been shot up with some poisonous compound. They weren't sure what was in the compound. The intruder predicted that Starsky had only twenty-four hours to live.

I didn't understand. This was a hospital; they were supposed to have the answers. Maybe Starsky had the answers, if I could just talk to him. The doctor told me to follow him, so I did. I stayed in the corner, away from all the machines, while the doctor went to Starsky's side. My partner looked around and I smiled at him, assuring him that it would be okay. The doctor told him that his heart was fine, but they would have to send him upstairs for other tests. But Starsky already knew the truth of the situation. He was slowly dying and it was up to us to make sure he didn't.

Starsky slid off the table. "Okay, where's my pants?"

"For the record," Dr. Franklin interjected, "this isn't wise. I can't forbid it, but I strongly advise against it."

"I appreciate what you're saying, Doctor," Starsky said, "but what it really comes down to is one question. Can you guarantee if I stay here that you can find the answer in time?" He made no response, so Starsky continued. "Then I think I'd like a shot at it. If we don't score by...ten o'clock tonight, I'll give you another crack at it."

Starsky turned to me. "Find my pants," he ordered.

I reached into my pocket. "I have your watch."

"You forgot my pants!" he yelled. "You want me to hit the streets with no pants, no badge, no gun, no dignity?! What's the matter with you?" He turned to the doctor. "You believe him?" He stormed out of the room, leaving me to follow.

"You know, you're right, Starsk. I should've left you lying on the floor while I decided which pair of your equally crummy blue jeans to pack," I said as we walked down the hall towards the entrance. "They're all looking at you."

He got on the elevator without a word.

"Stop pouting," I countered. "There's clothes in the back of the Torino, remember?"

Starsky looked at me, as if just now realizing that he had left his car at the hospital the day before. "Oh," he sighed.

The strain was weighing on us and all we could do was make jokes to break the tension. We were going to find this guy and make him tell us what was in that compound. It was Starsky's only chance...our only chance. He would pay for hurting us.

Starsky left the elevators and headed towards the exit. I tagged behind, trying to cover his over-exposed backside. That was Starsky, flashing the nurses without a second thought. I rushed to fall in step beside him as we crossed the parking lot. I opened the trunk and threw him a set of clothes. I guess he figured the faster the better because he stripped off the hospital gown right in the parking lot, quickly getting into his clothes. I had to laugh. For a man worried about his dignity two minutes ago, he sure didn't act like it.

"I'll drive," I said, getting ready to put the key in the car door.

"Over my dead body," he objected, taking the keys from me. As if realizing what he said, he stopped and stared at me. Finally, he broke. "You know what I mean. Now get in." Climbing into the driver's side, he waited for me to join him, which I finally did.

We started driving towards the station. I grabbed the mike and told Collins, the officer in charge of RandI, pull all our cases from the past five years. I wasn't very nice to Collins, I know, but I had no patience left.

"Getting second thoughts about leaving the hospital?" I asked him when I put down the mike.

"Are you?" he countered.

"I could be wrong, but I'll still be walking around tomorrow." It was a stupid thing to say, but if I didn't joke about it I would have to accept it. One was a whole lot better than the other.

"The doctor was pretty straight about our chances," Starsky said. "As I see it, it's who do we trust time." We exchanged a glance that said more than we were willing to admit. We had to get through this, we had to find the guy that did this to him, because if we didn't...I didn't want to think about that. He had offered himself to me and I had turned him down. Now I might not ever have the chance to say I was sorry, that I didn't really mean it. He had to live, he had to make it through so I could love him like he wanted. I would gladly live a lie, come to him whenever he asked and stay away when he didn't. I would pretend that it was the life I wanted to live as long as I could be promised that tomorrow he'd be around to share it with me. But there were no promises, no guarantees. All we had was a clock that was counting down to our ultimate deadline.

Starsky wheeled around when he thought he saw Huggy. If anyone could put the word out and find the information, it was Huggy. Huggy was shocked when he found out about Starsky, and promised to do all that he could.

By the time we got to the station, Collins had pulled all the files like we had asked and most of the station knew about our situation. Dobey even went so far as to call Starsky 'Dave.' You know you're in trouble when the captain uses your first name. Dobey went off with Collins to look up some possible suspects while Cheryl, the police department's lab technician, called me out to talk about Starsky's current condition. Nobody was willing to say everything would be okay. That was the only thing I wanted to hear. Why couldn't someone just say those words? Cheryl promised to try to get her father, a well-known chemist at the nearby university, to help, even though he hadn't returned her calls.

Right after I went back into Dobey's office, he and Collins came in with a list. Twenty possible suspects narrowed down to three primes: Vic Bellamy, Al Wendell, and Janos Martini. The only one we had a current address on was Bellamy, so he was our first stop. By the time we climbed all those stairs to Bellamy's apartment, though, the strain was showing on Starsky. He was sweating and I knew that was the first sign. Unfortunately, Bellamy was a bust. He had been in a cast for the past four weeks, so that was strike one.

Starsky stumbled as we were coming out of the building and I grabbed for him. He rejected my offer to drive, again, and we once again joked our way out of actually talking about how scared we were. I blew up at Dobey when he couldn't offer any help on the other suspects' addresses. Starsky tried to soothe us both and we all knew that it was the frustration of the situation that was eating away at us. Dobey finally turned us on to Sweet Alice, though. Martini used to date her, so she might know where he was. I should have thought of that first.

Sweet Alice would do anything to help me and I knew it. She told us that Janos had a new operation on Channing Street. Before we left, Sweet Alice noticed Starsky was getting sick. It was one thing for me to notice it, but if other people could see it, then that made me realize we had even less time.

Driving over to Janos' studio, I kept glancing at Starsky. I wanted to make sure I could help him when he got worse. He probably knew what I was doing, but he didn't say anything. After an aggravating conversation, we ran off the two guards at the porno studio. But as soon as we turned the corner towards the studio, Starsky collapsed in pain. He was getting worse, little by little. Our time was running out and we hadn't gotten anywhere yet.

"Easy, easy. Easy, Starsk, take it easy," I soothed as I held him. "Easy. You gonna make it?"

"My stomach hasn't felt this bad since Aunt Rosie sent me some of her special chicken soup," he groaned, clutching at me.

"Easy, easy now. Just try to relax. Take it easy now," I continued to say, hoping I could take away some of his hurt.

"She never could get the hang of it. Made great Won-Ton, though," he tried to joke through the agony.

"You think you can make it?" I asked. After a moment I pulled him to his feet.

"Just give me a minute," he requested.

"Okay?" I searched for reassurance.

"How do I look?" he asked, sweat drenching his face.

"You look terrible," I joked, but ultimately telling the truth.

Janos was a bust, too, because his laugh didn't match the one Starsky heard when he was shot up. We left, defeated. Starsky stumbled over and sat down on the stairs. If we didn't find the guy soon, he wouldn't be able to go on like this.

"Well, that's twelve hours gone."

"Yeah," he sighed. As if considering, he paused before continuing. "The pessimist says the bottle's half empty, optimist says it's half full." I looked at him. "It hurts, Hutch. Oh god, it hurts."

For him to admit that meant that the pain was too much to bear. I went and hugged him, pressing myself close as if to shield him from the misery. "I know, I know. Buddy, I'm here, I'm here." I wanted to take away all the agony he felt, might feel, and take his place. I would do anything to have him better. I finally drove us back to the station. Cheryl said she could give Starsky something for the pain and right now he needed it.

"I'm scared, Hutch," he finally admitted when I came over to join him. He was shaking and sweating, leaning up against the cabinet, and I couldn't pretend he wasn't hurting.

"I don't know what there is to be scared about. We still got seven hours." I was trying to cover my anxiety.

"Oh, that's right," Starsky said, picking up the banter. "Just enough time to catch the double bill down at the Rivoli and finish that book I've been reading." His attempt at a joke went flat.

"Well, we know it ain't Bellamy and we know it ain't Janos, so all we gotta do is find Wendell."

"Only he ain't turning up, Hutch," he pointed out. "We got a whole city full of cops looking for him and he ain't showing."

"That's because we're not on the streets."

"Oh," Starsky supplied.

"Soon as we get back out there, we'll turn that turkey," I joked.

"Probably hiding in a trashcan or something," he played along.

"Sure," I laughed.

"Yeah, we'll hit the streets, run down a few alleys."

"Bust down a few doors," I chimed in.

"Get all our snitches working."

"This guy hasn't got a chance."

Starsky grimaced in pain and our façade fell. I was about to break and so was he.

I yelled at Cheryl to give him something for the pain. Starsky joked that his left arm had really been getting it today, first the compound and then the pain meds. Our sick attempt at humor was wearing thin. I lit into Cheryl when I found out her father had made no attempt at helping us. Well, he did send his assistant, but we needed him, not his assistant. Cheryl promised to go out to the house if she needed to, but she would get him to help.

The case turned stone cold when we saw Dobey. Al Wendell had been dead four days. That led us right back to nothing. Starsky admitted defeat and left to sit at our desk. I soon followed, with a cup of water for him. I wanted to concentrate on Starsky and keeping his spirits up, but was curtailed by a woman wanting to look at pictures of our suspects. She said the desk downstairs had sent her up to talk to me specifically. I brushed her off and gave her the mug shots we had. Dismissing her, I went to rejoin Starsky. He didn't want the water, so I drank it myself. Anything to ease the constricting throat that I was developing.

"You know, if this was a cowboy movie, I'd give you my boots," Starsky said. He looked at me with pain evident in his gaze. "You're my pal, Hutch." He reached out his hand and I took it, trying to signify the all-or-nothing bond we had.

The lady interrupted the mood. I was about to blow up at her until she identified Vic Bellamy. We'd been looking for the wrong lead. Bellamy had bought all the materials to make a leg cast so he could have the perfect alibi. We ran out to track him down.

Starsky was getting worse and we both knew it. He could hardly make it and I wanted him to stay in the car, but he wouldn't hear of it. I helped him upstairs and we busted into Bellamy's apartment. His wife was there, screaming, but Bellamy had fled to the roof. I went after him. Bellamy was hiding, shooting wildly at me in order to keep himself safe. He taunted me, too, knowing I couldn't kill him without killing Starsky.

It took Starsky to end the standoff. Emptying his gun into Bellamy ended our chances of knowing what was in the compound. A final choice from Starsky in order to save my life. And all because it seemed like a good idea at the time. And then he collapsed in my arms, all strength leaving his body. I thought that was the end, his final gift to me. He saved my life and gave his instead. But my mind couldn't accept it, my heart wouldn't believe that he was gone. As long as I could still fight, he couldn't be gone.

I don't know who called the ambulance. One minute I was holding Starsky up on the roof and the next the paramedics were there loading him on a stretcher. We had taken that ride too many times in the past twenty-four hours.

As soon as we got to the hospital, they started working on Starsky. After another shot of pain meds, the doctor had to take him upstairs. If the timetable held, Starsky had less than two hours left. He was almost too weak to talk, but as I leaned down he made the effort.

"Hey, buddy, I have to go now," I whispered. I meant much more than I was saying. This might be the last time I ever saw him and I wasn't ready to accept it.

"Okay," he said. "Hey..."

I moved closer but he couldn't say another word. We just exchanged glances, hoping we knew what the other meant. I wanted him to understand that I'd give anything to know he'd be there tomorrow. I had to make it up to him, for leaving him and allowing this to happen. It was my fault, my rejection, that put him in danger. If only I had known that this would be the way it turned out, I never would've left him. He was afraid, I knew, but I also think I saw a little regret at what might have been. I wanted to love him, I already did, but now I might never get the chance to fully act on that. He was leaving me and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

Dobey was waiting for me as I followed Starsky's gurney out. The captain was ready to admit defeat, but I couldn't. It couldn't be over, not yet. There had to be another piece of the puzzle that we weren't getting. Then it hit me. Bellamy wasn't smart enough to do this alone. He only had a tenth grade education, so there was no way he could mix the compound himself. He had to have an accomplice and I had only two hours to find out who it was.

I went to Bellamy's place and tore it apart. I kept questioning his wife, but she was no help. She kept yelling that she didn't know, but she did, she had to. Finally she gave in and said the guy who worked with Bellamy had something to do with the university. Then it clicked. The one person who didn't want to help us, who still held a grudge for an accidental death Starsky and I had been powerless to prevent. Cheryl's father was the only one who could be responsible for something like this.

When I arrived at his house, Cheryl was already there. She was unaware of what her father had done and kept asking for answers. We sparred verbally, but finally he, too, was worn down by his terrible grief. I managed to get the second syringe from him, the one that was supposed to be for me. If the doctors could analyze it, they could find an antidote.

I drove as fast as possible to the hospital and got the syringe to the lab. They silently worked, not giving me any assurances. I couldn't be too late, not now, not after everything that had happened. Why didn't they tell me they had found the antidote? Why didn't they say anything? My partner was dying upstairs and they were taking too much time to save him. Didn't they understand? Didn't they see that every weakened breath that he took was bringing us one step closer to darkness? I couldn't live if he didn't survive this. I couldn't live with the regret of what might have been, with the emptiness of the void, without Starsky. Why wouldn't they tell me it was going to be okay?

But finally they did, the doctor told me that he would be okay again. I had gotten there barely in time, but I saved him. That's all that mattered, he was going to live. And I had my second chance. I wouldn't turn him away again if he asked because I had done it once before and looked where we ended up.

I had to spend time down at the station, working on the paperwork for the case, but every chance I got I would end up back in Starsky's room. He was asleep a lot of the time when I was there, but just watching him breathe was enough of a reward for me. He was alive, he'd make it, and that's all I could ever hope for. Starsky wasn't one to go in for the soapy scenes, but we didn't need them. Simplicity worked just as well. The first time he opened his eyes, I was sitting beside his bed and holding onto his hand. He blinked a little, clearing his head, and looked over at me. Slowly a smile spread across his face.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey yourself."

"So we really made it, huh?"

"We really did," I assured him.

"Thank you."

"For what?" I asked, confused.

"For saving me."

"It's what I do," I whispered, squeezing his hand.

"Be here when I wake up?"

"Bet on it." I smiled as I watched him drift back to sleep.

I didn't want to leave him, never wanted to let him out of my sight again. He had survived this and I had to make sure he would stay safe. When it was time for him to come home, I promised to take care of him. Nobody would hurt him again. I stayed with him late into the night and was there every morning before breakfast. I should have stayed, killed my back by sleeping on the couch, but I didn't want to push him. I would take what he gave, that's what I had told myself.

He was due to go back to the doctor's three days out of the hospital. I wanted to go with him for his check-up, but I was needed down at the station. He assured me that it was okay, saying he could manage to make it to the doctor's on his own. And when he came into the station after his appointment, he looked worse for wear. It was all a trick, though, a ruse to get him an extended vacation down to the islands. Huggy accidentally let us in on his secret. Starsky was planning on going off for a pleasure vacation, just him and any willing lady that happened to come by. He wasn't going back. Everything that I wanted to make up for, he wasn't having anything to do with it. He had moved on and again left me to wonder where I fit in. I honestly believed that coming so close to death would help Starsky accept our true feelings for each other, would let him see that I still loved him and would do anything for him. Maybe I was living in a dream, but I wanted him and I wanted him to want me. I wanted to take care of him and love him and never let him go. He wanted everything to go back to normal; his idea of normal, which included me covering up all of my feelings again. I told him before that being partners was enough. I had accepted that, was willing to live with that, before he offered an alternative. And now, he'd snatched it away again. I bit back my pain, didn't let it show, and simply took him home again. He sacked out on the couch, acting like everything was the same. And to him, it was. His rules had changed, but he knew the score. I didn't even know which game we were playing anymore.

"I'm tired, Hutch," Starsky yawned as he stretched out on the couch, pushing his muscles to wake up so he could make the journey back to his bedroom.

I was there, guarding him, like I had since he'd left the hospital. I wanted to make sure no one could get to him again, that there would be no lapses in the safety net I had spun around him. I walked away from him once, the night before he'd been poisoned, and look what happened.

"I think I'm gonna hit the sack," he said, struggling to right himself.

"You want me to stay?" I asked. It was the same question I asked every night and I could almost recite his answer word for word.

"No, you go home and get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

I stood up to go, almost making it to the door before he called to me again.

"Hutch."

I turned towards his voice. His back was to me, shoulders slumped in exhaustion. "Call Abby."

"What? Why should I call Abby?" I asked, confused.

"Because," he said as he turned towards me. "Right now she's the only one who can give you what you want. Maybe not forever, but for right now." He looked at me once, eyes locking with mine until I finally understood what he was saying. "Call her, Hutch. For me and for you, call her."

He turned away again and retreated into his bedroom. The silence of the apartment filled my ears as I realized what had happened. I promised I wouldn't turn him away if he asked me again, but he wasn't asking. He wasn't giving up on us, but he was saying that right now a physical relationship wasn't going to get us anywhere. He wanted me to be happy for a little while, at least until he could be the person I wanted and needed.

I did call her. Not that night, not even the next day, but I did finally call her. And she was happy to hear from me and happy that I wanted to be with her. I never tried to make her feel like she was the second place prize. She never said anything, but I think she knew that before I was torn between being true to her and being true to Starsky. Now, there was no reason to be torn anymore. She just loved me and needed me and cared for me like I wanted someone to, but it was never the same as with Starsky. I really did want to hear someone say I love you, but she wasn't the person I needed to hear it from.

Starsky was supportive of it, actually encouraging me to be with Abby as much as possible. Starsky and I were a package deal and even if he sent me away to be with others, my heart would always be with him. But every time he sent me out, he'd let the memory of what he and I had together fade just enough so that it hurt even more when he yanked me back and offered to try it again. It was not about Abby and me, it was about biding our time until Abby no longer needed to be a buffer between Starsky and I.

So that's why Starsky, Abby, and I were eating lunch together in the cafeteria on Wednesday and planning out the weekend's activities. Starsky was reading his never-ending trivia and complaining about the health food kick that Abby and I were on. Our next two-day fast was supposed to be that weekend and Starsky was going to have dinner with us Friday night to celebrate. Three days can make all the difference and by Friday we needed something to celebrate. We had a murder case that had ended up with our number one suspect dead and his two bail bondsmen as the culprits. It had been a very confusing time and we all needed to relax and unwind.

Apparently, Abby's cooking did not meet Starsky's high standards of cuisine. He complained all through Friday's dinner; I warned him not to hurt her feelings. He finally realized that I eat whatever she serves in order to get laid that weekend.

He wasn't keen on Abby's dessert either. Vitamin shakes and Starsky do not mix. I offered to drink his, but he joked that I'd better not leave his sight for fear that I would go after Abby while he was still there. Jealousy doesn't suit him well, either. He still loved me, couldn't love me, but didn't want to see anyone else love me. Such was our relationship.

We worked the streets, worked our cases, but didn't really work on us. The summer ate away at our patience, the heat doing nothing for our tempers. We would fight, then make up, but we never really talked about what was going on. Every day without him was one more day with Abby and pretty soon it became harder and harder for me to see a way out. I loved Starsky, but I could love Abby, too. And it hurt Starsky every time we were around him because he had sent me to her. He knew that she could give me what he wasn't ready to. I wanted to be happy, even though I still wanted him, and now I had someone who was willing to give her heart to me and make me enjoy life. She wandered in and out of my life, putting no pressure on me to focus only on her. That's why it was easier for me, easier to love her and still be in love with him, because I didn't have to choose between them yet.

That summer was about change, silent change. At the end of May, Abby and I were watching the news and a report came on about Joe Durniak going into protective custody. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, since he had a lot of information to give and a lot of names to name, but it didn't hit me for real until it was right in front of me. I called Starsky, ready to lend whatever help I could to him, but he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't even want to mention it because of the memories it was bringing up. He just said that everything happens for a reason and that I should stop worrying about Joe Durniak. That's all that we ever said on the subject.

That same month, I moved to a Venice Place apartment and Starsky followed suit by moving out of his Ridgeway Avenue apartment. It was as if we were trying to distance ourselves from what had happened between us. I hoped that there would be some good to come out of the changes we were making. The streets didn't change for the better. In fact, they seemed to be getting worse.

We had one case in particular that stuck with me. There were ritualistic killings that started in June, during the heat wave. Sometimes a psycho will choose something like a weather pattern to start his rampage. But this one was different because it wasn't one psycho, it was a group of them. They were lost children, men and women who had left their homes to find a new family with a man named Simone. He had promised them love and acceptance and safety, brainwashing them into thinking that his will must be done in order to gain that happiness. It bothered me that this man could mold these fresh minds into soldiers to do his bidding. Starsky didn't let it get to him as much I did.

When we got to the storefront where Simone was hiding, I had a nagging fear that this was just the beginning. Starsky went charging in, taking control and taking Simone into custody. He roughed him up, cuffed him, and gave him to the uniforms like it was just another day's work. Well, it was, but there was something different about this one. This one wasn't going to end with a jail cell or a trial. This one would keep after me in dreams and nightmares.

By August, my dreams about Simone had ceased, but his face kept appearing to me on rough nights. He was the embodiment of the ugliness we had to deal with every day. I couldn't shake it. Starsky noticed how distracted I was after the nightmares, but he couldn't do much about them. He'd give me a phone call, or just check in with me, and made sure I had his steady shoulder to lean on, but even he couldn't banish what was going on inside my head. All I could do was focus on the job and hope that eventually all the badness would go away. I hoped our fears would, too, and that eventually Abby wouldn't need to be between us anymore. I was ready to try again and I just had to wait until he felt the same way.


	2. A TIME OF NEED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know what? Forget it. Forget all of this. I'm tired of falling right back into this sick little game you play. You pretend you want me and then you turn around and destroy me."

  


Late in the summer, Abby's mom got sick. She had to head back East to take care of her and nurse her back to health. Abby's family was really important to her and I could see how shaken she was over the turn her mom had taken. We had dinner before she left and she promised to call me once everything settled down.

Starsky picked me up early in the morning, chattering away about how great the weather was going to be this weekend so maybe we could go to the beach like we'd planned. As we came into the squad room we were greeted by one of our least favorite sights, Lt. Cameron from the Las Vegas PD. We tried to avoid him, but Dobey called us all into his office. That's when Cameron offered up his deal. He requested _us_ specifically for a strangulation case they were investigating in Vegas. Cameron had already passed the request through all the right channels; all we had to do was agree. The grisly facts of the case and Cameron's lack of an effective undercover team really didn't leave us much choice, so after some minor hemming and hawing we caved in and accepted the assignment.

Our cover would be out-of-town high rollers, so we needed to look the part. For that, we put our fate in Huggy's hands. He had a friend, called Duke, who could fit us with suits. The only problem was the garb made us look like gangster rejects from the Twenties. It was only fitting that we had a 1959 Edsel to fill out our roles. And, of course, it had to be fire engine red. We were nothing if not conspicuous.

Starsky made me drive so he could rattle on from his Las Vegas travel book. I finally got exasperated and told him to hush. The car must have taken offense at my outburst because it blew a gasket right after. I don't know what it is about me and temperamental red cars, but we don't get along. We called a tow truck and had it hauled to the nearest gas station. Luckily, we were near city limits and could actually get a taxi. After snagging a cab and getting assurances that the car would be ready within the day, I glanced over at my partner. Starsky was playing slots by the bathrooms. Slots, at a _gas station_, and we weren't even really in Vegas yet. My partner was getting the fever. I hustled him away, but just to prove my point that there was no chance of winning, I popped in a quarter on my way out to the cab. My point was busted all to pieces when I actually hit the jackpot. So, with a hatful of quarters, I joined my ticked off partner for the car ride.

When we arrived at the casino, Starsky was ready to gamble. I, however, was too concerned with the fact that everyone was pointing and laughing at us. We looked like we had stepped out of Al Capone's entourage. Starsky was oblivious and proceeded to charge ahead towards the lures of riches. Recognizing his single-minded focus, I convinced him to give me the $200 entrusted to us. That was our total loot to go into town with. The plan was that we'd blow the $200, get in a fight, and then get thrown in jail. Starsky, being the soft heart that he was, told me to go off on my own and he would take care of himself. What I didn't realize until I left him and looked at the cash was that he had palmed $100. So, I trudged off to find him so we could blow the lot fast and clean. He was over by the roulette table getting overly hyper about the prospect of being a winner. I reminded him that we had to _lose_, but it wasn't getting through. It certainly didn't help that he hit the number he picked, either.

I pulled him away with our now increased money in my possession and went over to the craps table. One way to lose cash quick is to play craps. Unfortunately, or fortunately as the case may be, I developed a hot arm. Some may say I developed gambling fever as well, but I can't say that was true. What was true was the fact that I racked up $9,000 and then doubled it down on a seven shot. Starsky got fed up with waiting for me to lose, so he poured my drink over our Texan neighbor standing nearby at the table. Don't provoke a Texan, that's my lesson for the day. Especially if he's got a right cross that can knock you on your butt.

Finally, we got thrown into the tank. It was there that I re-discovered someone I hadn't seen in years. Jack Mitchell was my old high school classmate, fellow rich kid, and all-around best friend during my youth. He was always there for me when I needed him, always willing to lend a hand when my world seemed to be crumbling. After I left for college, though, we had lost touch. The last time I'd seen him was when he was leaving for college himself, set to become a doctor.

Best friends often burn fast and then burn out. I guess that's how it had been for Jack and me. But to find him in Vegas on a bunk in a jail cell was just too much. I called out his name and he looked at me. His smile of recognition proved to me that all those years hadn't wiped out the memories of our friendship. He welcomed me back into his life energetically, teasing me about our old nicknames of the Prince and the Pauper. I guess when you have a friend as rich as Jack was, you would be known as the Pauper, too.

He was more than ready for us to join him at his place, encouraging us to let him give us shelter in the midst of the wilds of Vegas. I was torn. As much as I wanted to stay with Jack and catch up on old times, we were here on business and I couldn't let my personal attachments hinder that.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what Cameron was betting on.

Starsky realized it was a set-up before I did, but when I saw the two-way mirror, the situation became clearer. Cameron ordered us out of the cell before we let on, but I had a chance to tell Jack I would see him around. After we left him, Cameron had us brought into a room next door so we could observe the cell through that same mirror. They wanted to pin the strangler rap on Jack, but I wouldn't hear of it. This was Jack Mitchell; there was no way he was a killer. Besides, Cameron had tricked us into the case, so I was in no mood to listen to his ranting. The lieutenant tried to prove to me why his theory held. I found out that Jack _had_ gone to medical school, just like he planned. He'd been a resident for two and a half years before just walking away. He had shown up in Vegas six and a half months ago. Since then he had been exhibiting, as they called it, "strange behavior," and had been arrested seven times. Cameron claimed that Jack knew all the girls intimately and shoeprints his size found at some of the crime scenes made Jack the number one suspect. It was a lead, but not a closed case.

I walked over to the two-way mirror and stared at Jack. Turning to Starsky, I only had to say six simple words to make him understand. "Starsk, he was my best friend." That's all it took for him to see that Jack was important to me, this case was important to me, and proving my old friend's innocence was _most_ important to me. After that, we had to take the case, if only for Jack.

We agreed to keep tabs on Jack. If we were with him, there was no way they could frame him for another murder. Can't be in two places at once, now can he? The jailer let Jack out while we went out front after Cameron told us that they had our car delivered to the parking lot. We were just going to 'happen' upon Jack to make it look like nothing suspicious. Starsky trying to look non-suspicious would get a normal person thrown in jail.

"Will you stop that?" I asked him, halting his pacing.

"What? What'd I do?" Starsky asked, oblivious.

"You're acting like you're in need of a hit or something. Calm down and play it cool."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, okay," he assured me.

I knew that would last about two minutes. And it did. Sticking my partner in the middle of Vegas is not going to calm him down. Bright lights, easy money, half-naked girls. It's not the recipe for tranquility. His usual bounciness got turned up five times over.

"Shh, here he comes," I muttered under my breath. We leaned against the wall outside the station, watching Jack come down the stairs. He looked around and caught sight of us.

"Hey! Hutch!" he yelled. "What're you guys doing around here?"

"Well, we got out and remembered we had no place to go," I laughed. "Heard the guy say they were springing you for the night and figured we'd stick around and take you up on your offer."

"Hey, that's great!" he said, pleased. "But I ain't got a ride. They took my car to the impound."

"Never fear," Starsky broke in, waving his hand towards the parking lot. "Our chariot awaits."

Jack smiled, joining us as we walked towards the car. "Good thing you guys ended up in jail tonight. Else you'd have no place to stay."

"Yeah," I said, thinly veiling my residual anger at Cameron. "Seems like luck is smiling on us."

"This is yours?" Jack asked, impressed, as we stopped in front of the Edsel. "Man, you guys are a couple of characters. Old car, old clothes; a real couple of characters."

"Well, it gets us where we need to go," Starsky said. He moved to get into the driver's seat, but Jack stopped him.

"Let me drive," Jack said. "I know my way around this place." He opened the door and settled himself in. "I can get you to all the good spots."

I shrugged at Starsky. "Best way to see the town." I got into the backseat, urging Starsky to join us. He came around and got in the passenger seat. "You said you wanted to party tonight."

"And that's just what we're gonna do. Always more fun with a crowd!" Jack announced, squealing tires out of the lot. He reminded me a lot of Starsky.

He raced through the streets, dodging cars and weaving in and out of traffic like he was crazy. Maybe he was, maybe we all were. It was Vegas after all, and we were supposed to be having fun. But, all I could think about was how my best friend _then_ and my best friend _now_ were both with me at that moment. One was accused of a crime I knew he couldn't have committed, and the other was silently accused of not being able to fill the role I needed. It was ironic if you thought about it. I was trying to save my past and my future all at the same time and I wasn't sure I could hold on to either.

I was thrown out of my memories by a sharp turn into a pharmacy parking lot.

"Why'd you stop here?" Starsky asked when we ended up parked over the curb.

"I uh...I gotta get some chewing gum. OK?" Jack said, running into the pharmacy.

Random, that's Jack for you. Starsky made a snide remark about his driving as we got out of the car. Territorial imperative, that's what I chalked it up to. No one's allowed to drive like a madman except for Starsky himself.

We followed Jack and wandered around while he went to the back with the delivery guy. I assumed he was picking up the gum he wanted. That left us out front with the lady in charge. She made a snide comment about our attire. I'm gonna kill Huggy when we get back. Though they weren't bad clothes back when Eisenhower was around, it wasn't the style that Vegas was going with now. Add to that the fact that Starsky was complaining about his bladder, again, and I was ready to get out of there. Seemed like Jack was even more ready than we were because the delivery guy came back and told us he had hailed a cab and left through the alley. Keeping an eye on him was not going to be easy.

We had his home address, so we tried there. Ace, his landlord, regaled us with stories of his youth spent cutting hair, but finally, after getting him back on track, we found out where Jack's apartment was. Unfortunately, he wasn't there, as Ace helpfully pointed out. Starsky slipped him some cash and we found out that some girl named Vicky had been around before to invite Jack to a party. She worked over at the Thunderbird, a nearby casino, so we were off on another wild goose chase.

What we found at the Thunderbird were naked women, or at least half-naked women. Vicky was a showgirl and of course we _had_ to talk to her backstage while she was getting ready. Starsky was in heaven, while I was trying to stay focused. She took an instant liking to Starsky, gushing about how he was embarrassing her by blushing. He played the sweetheart, but it wasn't helping us find Jack. The party was supposed to be at her apartment complex, Palm Crest Apartments, 118 19th Street. If that was where the party was, then that was where we were going to be. Off on another leg of our 'find Jack' adventure.

And that's just where we found him.

He was acting spastic, talking about our summer days as lifeguards and telling the hostess how I was his best buddy. I couldn't get a straight answer out of him and then he dashed off again. The hostess said he had only been there ten minutes. That left a two-hour gap of not knowing where he was. Two hours is a long time. We had to keep closer tabs on him if we had any hope of cracking this case. I decided that we should stick around and enjoy the party, if only to keep an eye on Jack.

Starsky would have rather gone out to see the town, with all its gambling and bright lights. That idea of his fled the moment Vicky walked in. She showed up about five minutes after we did and, the minute she did, he took off. They went outside and left me to watch Jack. My future and my past were both pulling away from me like they had better places to be. I tried to bum around, enjoy the music and the food, but all my mind could do was wander from Jack to Starsky and back to Jack. They were from two separate worlds, two completely different points in my life, but they both meant so much to me that I didn't want to let either one of them go. Starsky would rather be with women than with me. No, that's not right. He'd rather be with me when he's in need. He'd rather be with women when he wants to be seen.

I heard a scream and my instincts took over. The crowd moved downstairs to see what was up, but by the time I got down there all I could see was Starsky in the pool, fighting with a guy, and Vicky unconscious on the ground. I didn't stop to think, just dived headlong into the water. Save him, protect him, do whatever he needed done. And I did it, without thinking. He was so sure that the case was over and that we had caught the strangler, but it wasn't. It was only Lloyd, Vicky's ex-husband. The murderer was still out there and all we had was a drunken ex-husband and a weeping showgirl. Life was never easy.

Vicky's friend promised to walk with her up to her place, and Starsky watched her leave. I could tell he had already fallen, hard. He only had eyes for her while I was left to catch cold in my wet, gangster-reject clothes.

The cops finally showed up and took Lloyd. Once we had squared everything with them, I managed to pull Starsky away. Vicky was home, she was safe, _she_ would be okay. We, however, were wet, hyped up, and had nothing even close to an answer. The first thing we had to do was go change and dry off. Starsky pulled his clothes out of the trunk and dashed into the bathroom at the party. Before I knew it, he had changed and was saying something about having to check on Vicky.

"Hurry up!" Jack warned him. "I promised to show you the town and the night's young!"

Starsky nodded non-committally, and ran into the apartment building. I just stared after him, wondering. Jack's voice broke into my consciousness.

"He's hot for Vicky, huh?"

I turned away from Starsky's retreating shadow. "Huh?"

"Starsky. He's hot for Vicky," Jack said, popping his gum. "Can't say I blame him, though. That body, that smile. Any man would chase after it in a minute."

Took me a second to realize he was talking about Vicky, not Starsky. "Yeah...yeah, I guess any man would."

"Hey, hurry up and change, huh? We got a lot of ground to cover tonight," Jack said, smiling.

"Okay, Jack, okay," I said, not quite convincing myself that I was ready for a night of partying.

I grabbed a change of clothes and went in search of the bathroom. I took my time changing. What was the rush, anyway? Starsky would still be up there with Vicky no matter how long I took. Well, if he wanted to love someone else, then there was nothing stopping me from doing the same thing. I finally came out, drier and more determined. Jack wanted to party, so we'd party. We'd stay out all night and show Starsky the town. That's what Starsky wanted, right? That's what he'd get. Jack and me, we went upstairs and had to knock three times before Starsky would finally come out.

I knew what he was doing in there; I just didn't want to think about it.

Jack drove us all over town, showing us the sights. We probably hit every bar within the city limits. I know Jack hit every bottle between here and there. He finally collapsed around five in the morning. Starsky was dragging, too, so we had to bag it and head back to Jack's place. We put Jack to bed and were headed there ourselves, but Ace told us that Cameron had requested the honor of our presence down at the police station. Jack wasn't going to be waking up anytime soon, so we left him and headed out to see what Cameron so urgently needed.

We shouldn't have rushed. We found out we had failed, again. Cameron was ready to apologize, even say he had made a mistake, but that was before he found out we'd lost track of Jack for two hours. Another girl had been murdered in those two hours. Gretchen Hollander had been a chorus girl, but now she was just another victim. Cameron saw this as the end of the line for us. He was ready for us to get out of town, but I couldn't give up without a fight. Even if I was wrong and Jack was the one committing these crimes, we were still the best bet they had at catching him. Getting chewed out by Cameron was bad, but knowing that we might have let that girl die was even worse. I couldn't believe Jack could do such a thing, but the evidence was making it harder and harder to deny. No, no, he couldn't be the murderer. This was Jack Mitchell, not some street punk that held a grudge. He was innocent and I had to prove it, now more than ever.

Starsky was dead on his feet and managed to sack out in the backseat for the ride from the station. I didn't have that luxury since one of us had to drive. When we got back to Jack's place, we had a sudden feeling of dread. Jack wasn't in bed, where we had left him. We shouted for him and finally found him in the bathroom. If we had lost him again, if another girl had been murdered because of our incompetence, then... No, we couldn't afford second-guessing. We'd find the real killer and Jack would be cleared.

Vicky had called and left a message about her car being broken down. Starsky went to deal with her while I took up residence on the couch, guarding Jack. I knew Starsky was tired, we both were, but it was his girl, his problem. I had enough of my own to deal with. Besides, she might be able to give us some leads on the killer since she'd been friends with one of the victims. It was a start, anyway. So Jack and I were left in silence to sleep, and Starsky was off to play chauffer to Vicky.

Next thing I knew, I was vaguely aware of a ringing telephone. I groped around for it and finally found the receiver.

"Hello?" I answered, not quite awake yet.

"You sound like I feel," Starsky said.

"You made it to Boulder City yet?" I yawned, stretching out on the couch with my eyes still closed.

"Made it there and back. I just brought Vicky over to Circus Circus. Why don't you two come over and join us?"

"Hmm," I answered, still half-asleep. "What time is it?"

"Around seven."

"It was seven when you left here."

"Seven at night, dummy. You mean to tell me you've slept all day?"

That got my attention. Had I really been asleep all day? Where was Jack? "Hold on!" I answered urgently. Dropping the phone, I ran into the bedroom. Jack was still there, sacked out. I breathed a sigh of relief, coming back to the phone.

"He still there?" Starsky asked, knowing.

"Yeah, he's still asleep." I rubbed my face. "What you doing at Circus Circus?"

"Meeting someone. Look, you two get up and come over here, okay? We got something that needs to be done."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," I said. "I'll get Jack up and get over there soon."

I hung up the phone, trying to clear my head enough to get back on track. We had work to do. I went to take a shower and change. Even when I got out, though, Jack was still asleep. I went into the bedroom and started shaking Jack's shoulder.

"Hey, Jack!" I called, shaking him. "Jack, wake up."

"Hmm?"

"Jack, we've been asleep all day. It's time to get up."

"Don't wanna get up," he complained. Just like Starsky, never one to get an early start.

"Starsky called. He wants us to meet him over at Circus Circus." Jack rolled over, so I shook him again. "Come on, we can go gambling or something."

Jack yawned. "Alright," he sighed. "Give me five minutes to catch a shower."

Five minutes was more like fifteen, but we eventually made it to the casino. Starsky wanted me to meet one of Vicky's friends. She had some information that might help out on the case. It turned out that Cameron wasn't completely honest with us. He had been seeing one of the victims, too, and had gotten pretty mad at her for dumping him and going out with Jack. There was a flaw in his logic of going after only one suspect. Revenge came to mind, but even with my ultimate dislike for the guy, Cameron didn't strike me as the type of person to kill five girls for any reason. We had to prove Jack wasn't the one, either. That would be the only way to show Cameron that he had made a mistake.

We had a plan, a good plan. I convinced Starsky that the only way to prove Jack wasn't the killer was to get him out of town. We were going to do it, too, if the whole standoff hadn't happened. The cops thought they had the strangler trapped and when duty calls, you'd better answer. Unfortunately, by answering the call, we had to reveal who we really were to Jack. Being a cop was one thing, but lying to him about why we were really there was something else entirely. He bolted, tried to grab my gun and ran. In his mind, I guess he thought we were setting him up. I wish I could have convinced him differently.

We ran after him, straight to the roof. He got caught by a bullet, right in the chest. I managed to pull him out of the line of fire, but that was all I could do until we caught the psycho who was shooting at us. A couple of bullets and a lot of running and dodging finally brought it to an end. Once we had the wacko in hand, I had Starsky read him his rights while I went to check on Jack.

I bent down beside him. "Jack?" I whispered. "Jack, it's gonna be okay." He didn't open his eyes; he didn't even move. "Jack, we're gonna get you to a hospital and it'll be okay." I was trying to reassure myself more than him.

Back-up units got there pretty fast. The ambulance did, too. They took the shooter away and loaded Jack on the stretcher. Starsky and I followed him all the way down. I couldn't take my eyes off him for fear that when I looked back, he'd be gone. He was loaded into the ambulance and we closed the doors. Only then was I vaguely aware of what Cameron was saying. After all this, after we arrested the shooter and all that, Cameron still wanted a detail to follow Jack and guard him. I blew up, couldn't take it anymore. Where did he get off with his attitude? The man had been shot and all Cameron could think about was making sure he was guarded so he couldn't get out and kill again. He wasn't a killer, but Cameron wouldn't allow himself to let that truth seep into his brain.

Our suspect was in a security room at the casino, so we went in to question him. Starsky pushed, pushed him hard, and finally he cracked. This wasn't our guy. He was just another psycho wanting to steal the spotlight, a copycat. We were back to square one. And Cameron was back to his assumption that Jack was the only suspect he needed.

We went over to the hospital to await word on Jack. Starsky sacked out on the couch, dead to the world within minutes. He hadn't slept in almost 18 hours, so it was no wonder he wanted to rest a little. I couldn't rest, not knowing. So I jumped up expectantly when the doctor came in. They'd removed the bullet, so I thought he'd be okay, but I wasn't prepared for what came next.

Jack had a brain tumor; he was dying. That was why his behavior had been so erratic, why he'd acted strangely and had gone off so suddenly. He was going to die and the bullet had made his death that much more immediate. I didn't know what to say. Jack was going to die and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

I went to call Jack's parents, to let them know the awful news. They cried. I tried not to, but the shock was beginning to eat away at me. Now, more than ever, I had to clear Jack's name. He deserved to die without any guilt hanging over him. If that meant we had to go through every scrap of evidence again, then that's what we were going to do. I roused Starsky from his sleep and we headed over to the station. Cameron wasn't too happy to find us in his office, searching through evidence his men had already combed through. I didn't care what he liked or didn't like. This was about finding a murderer and not being so blinded by hate that you let someone slip by you.

But while we were combing those records, Jack recovered enough to slip past the guards at the hospital and head for the Thunderbird Hotel. Starsky's first thought was of Vicky, mine was of Jack. We tried to head him off, but we were too late. By the time we got to Vicky's place, all that was left was a body. Not Vicky's--Jack's. He was gone, dead, just like that.

I was oblivious to everything that was going on around me at that moment. Starsky was upstairs taking care of Vicky, but I was huddled over Jack as if I could breathe life back into him. I snapped at Cameron, but I was too overcome to remember what I'd said.

The ambulance arrived and took Vicky away. She looked unconscious. Starsky was trailing behind the gurney. He gave me a look of despair and I returned it. He wanted to leave with her, but I wasn't about to leave Jack alone. The second gurney came out, this time from the coroner's team. They zipped Jack up in a body bag and took him away like just any other stiff. But he wasn't. He had been my best friend, my companion growing up, and now he was gone. That link to my past, severed forever.

Starsky asked one of the uniforms to take us to the hospital. I just followed along, silently. I couldn't do anything, say anything, because I was at a loss. Jack was gone and Vicky was hurt. Starsky still had her, she was still alive, but I had nothing. And as much as I wanted Starsky there with me, he needed to be with her. He gave me a questioning glance and I nodded, sending him away to check on her. I needed to pace, to clear my mind, to do something.

Cameron came by and gave me the official rundown. He was closing the case and that was the end of it. He claimed that he had all the evidence he needed with Jack's dead body. He fantasized that Jack attacked Vicky, that when Jack heard the sirens he jumped off the balcony out of fear. That was the biggest crock of bull I had ever heard in my life, but Cameron was standing by it. He took his leave and told me to let it go, that there was nothing I could do about it now.

I decided to talk to Jack's doctor, to figure out if it was possible that he could have done those horrible things. I got him out of bed to come down to the hospital and talk to me. We had a long conversation about Jack's condition and what he was capable of. It was a miracle he could even walk out of the hospital in the first place, much less be strong enough to attack someone. He was half-paralyzed, weak, and dying. There was no way he could have done any of the things Cameron insisted he'd done.

I tried to call Jack's parents, but every time I picked up the phone I couldn't dial it. I had just called them and told them their son was dying. Now I had to call them and tell them that he was already gone? No, I couldn't do that, not yet. They needed to get over one shock before being handed another. I needed to get over the shock of it all before I could go through it again. I knew that if I talked to them now, I wouldn't be able to curb my emotions enough.

Starsky came through the doors as I was getting a drink of water. Vicky had a severe concussion and would likely be out of work for at least three months. All he could worry about was her welfare, her financial problems, her life. But she was still there, still alive. Why couldn't he see how lucky he was to still have someone to hold onto?

I relayed the official story that Cameron had told me and Starsky was willing to buy it. He was blind to me, to what I was saying. All he cared about was Vicky and if she would be okay. Only when I repeated what Jack's doctor had told me about Jack being 90% paralyzed on his right side, only then did he see that I was telling him the truth. Someone else had attacked Vicky, killed those girls, and, ultimately, had killed Jack.

We searched Vicky's apartment and figured out that all the girls had the same thing in common: the drug store. When we got to the address for the night manager and her son, we found all the evidence we needed. The woman had been blown away in her garage, at point blank range with a shotgun. Inside the house, there were pictures of all the showgirls and personal effects of theirs as well. The delivery guy was our killer and it looked like Vicky's friend Iris was next in line. Starsky tried to call her, warn her, but she had already left for an audition. We knew it was a set-up and ran to head her off.

It was over quickly. The killer was caught and the case was closed.

We thought that it was best to give the money from our gambling to someone who could use it, so we sent it to Vicky. The department would have taken it, anyway, so it was better to let her have it. She could take care of her daughter with it. Our cover story was that we lost it at Keno. It was a good story, really.

Everything was going to be okay, but that still didn't change the fact that Jack was still dead. And when we got back to Bay City, I went home and called his parents to let them know. We all cried a lot that night. My past was slowly slipping away and my present and future were in serious doubt.

~~~

I would have loved to sit back and let everything that had happened just sink in. That wasn't going to happen. As soon as we were back from one undercover assignment, we were sent on another. A worker on a cruise ship was murdered, a guy by the name of Eric Snow. He didn't seem like the type of person who would get murdered, but you never can tell who's the type anymore. Huggy informed us that our victim was a small time coke dealer, so that was reason enough to kill him. Then Eric Snow's ex-girlfriend, October Moss, got killed and we still had no leads.

We wanted to stop the ship from sailing, to search it for possible drugs, but that idea was scrapped when we got the next tip from Huggy. Patsy Cairo, who was the syndicate's top man out west, was booked on the Amapola. He and his wife were going in under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Clark. His brother, Nicky, and their bodyguard were joining the party, too. Something big had to be going down to bring all of them out into the open and we wanted to be there when it happened. So, we convinced the Commodore to let us work undercover on the ship. We went in as Hack and Zack, cruise directors.

Being on the sea let me relive my youth. I had always loved the sea and growing up in Duluth didn't allow me to explore it very much.

After greeting the passengers, we went back to our room to rest. It wasn't big by any means—quite small actually. I didn't mind it and Starsky could deal with it. It was a ship, after all, not the Ritz Carlton. I collapsed on the bed nearest the porthole, tired from the barrage of people we had met already. Starsky sank on his own bed, appearing to be just as tired as I was.

"I'm beat and we haven't even started yet," he complained.

"If I was feeling up as many girls as you were, I'd be tired, too."

He turned to look at me. "What's that supposed to mean? I didn't see you with a hands-off policy up there. I distinctly recall you saying something about one of them having a nice pair of jeans."

"Forget it," I said, trying to brush it off. "I'm just tired, that's all."

He let it lie for a minute, then spoke again. "You still mad at me?"

I looked over at him questioning. "When was I mad at you?"

"Over Jack, over the women. I don't know--why are you?"

"I'm not mad over the women, Starsk." I stood up from the bed, distancing myself as much as the room would allow. "And Jack...I'm still dealing with Jack, so I just can't right now, I just...can't."

"Look, Hutch, I know he was your best friend," he said, looking up at me. "And I'm sorry I doubted you, but it really did look like he was the guy. It was an honest mistake."

"It wasn't..." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "It wasn't that he was a viable suspect. It was the fact that you were more concerned about Vicky than listening to the truth from me."

"So you were jealous!" he accused, rising from the bed.

"Not jealous," I admitted, turning to look out the porthole. "Just disappointed."

I heard him move up behind me, close. "What do you want me to say, Hutch? That I'm not turned on by girls, that I want to turn my back on that, and possibly my career, to love _you_?"

I turned around. He was so near I could feel his breath. "I just want to know you're capable of loving me like that, but apparently that's too much to ask. You'd rather be safe."

"I want you to be happy," he said, unsure.

I leaned into him, pressing my lips onto his, and kissed him like a starving man who had just discovered food. Breaking our embrace, I whispered, "That's what makes me happy...and makes you more terrified than you've ever been. Which one of us are you doing this for?"

He didn't have an answer, just his often-repeated line. "We can't. Not now. We can't."

I sighed. "And that's what I have to live with every day." I brushed past him, not letting myself go somewhere I couldn't get back from. I turned to look at him. "I'm still your partner and that's never gonna change." I smiled, letting him know that it was all okay, that I was okay. "I'm going to take a shower and then you can. We have to meet the first officer in an hour." Without another word, I left him and went to take my shower in peace. We had a case. I had to concentrate on the case.

We didn't mention our talk again. I smiled; he smiled. I took a shower and changed. He took a shower, and changed. We went back outside as what we were: partners and friends. We met with First Officer Stafford and found out that he didn't appreciate us invading his ship at all. We also found out that October's roommate, Helen, had gotten herself onboard under an assumed name. She promised she wouldn't get in our way and she expected us to do the same for her. So, after finding out she was determined to stay onboard, we went to keep our appointment with the captain. Aside from the fact that he hated us, he was also a heavy drinker. No one wanted us onboard and we had no backup to speak of. This was going to be a truly unworthy experience, I could already tell.

The next day we timed the scavenger hunt so that we could have a cover while breaking into Patsy Cairo's stateroom. If we could figure out why he was onboard maybe we could close this case early. I took the lead and went snooping on my own. I left Starsky standing between a woman and her angry lover. He could take care of himself, so he didn't need me sticking around to help him out. Patsy's room, however, wasn't empty like I thought it was. So, I came back empty-handed, again.

I found Starsky in the hall as I arrived back on deck. There were scavenger hunters around us everywhere. Grabbing his arm, I led him back to our room, keeping my voice low.

"Come on."

"What'd you find?" he asked.

"Nothing. His brother was there, so I tried to play it off, but I don't think he bought it."

"Well, now what're we supposed to do?" he asked.

"Be cruise directors and don't let on that we're anything else," I said, dragging him inside our room and shutting the door.

"Do you think he made you?" Starsky asked, concerned.

I looked at him, just then realizing that it was possible. "No...I mean, maybe, but...no." I shook my head. "If they had made us as cops they would've done something before now."

"Or they're waiting till the big deal goes down and then they'll deal with us," Starsky suggested, walking over to his bed.

"Optimism was never a problem for you before," I teased, lying down on my own mattress.

"Yeah," he sighed, resting on the firm bed. "Well, I'm optimistic that this boat trip will be a lot more fun when we don't have to go chasing after mobsters and a lady who won't tell us why she's going undercover."

"Like she said, she has her reasons." I turned my head to look at him. "And as long as she stays out of the way, I couldn't care less. I can only deal with one problem at a time."

"Does that mean," he turned to look at me, "that you're too busy to be bothered about taking a shower?" He smiled. "Talent show's gonna start soon and we gotta get ready."

"Oh, yeah," I yawned. "I forgot about that."

"You rest," he said, getting up. "I've got dibs first."

I took him for his word. I guess a firm mattress will do when you're tired, because the next thing I knew he was shaking me to wake me up.

"Hey!" he called. "Hutch, get up."

"Huh?" I woke up with a start. "What?"

"I said, it's your turn. Go get your shower. We're gonna be late."

"Okay, okay, don't rush me," I said, pushing myself off the bed.

I opened my eyes more. Starsky had changed into the blue outfit he had been wearing yesterday.

"Please tell me I don't have to wear something like that tonight," I teased, slowly walking towards the bathroom.

"No, buddy, nothing like this."

He was right; it wasn't like his. It was worse. A brown on brown nightmare that looked like it was stolen from an escaped mariachi band. We needed to find whoever supplied these things and torture them.

"This is horrible," I complained, coming out of the bathroom.

"You gotta wear the hat; it completes the outfit," he laughed, holding up a sombrero that could cover half of Texas.

I grabbed it from him and looked it over before putting it on my head. "Well?" I asked.

"Umm, you know how you always complain about getting sunburned?"

"Yeah?"

"With that thing on you won't have to worry about that ever again. The sun wouldn't go near anything that ugly."

I had to laugh. It was ugly, that's for sure, but as long as we could make fun of the situation, it wasn't that bad. The tension of the past few days eased a little. Why be tense? There were mobsters and drug dealers and a bust that was gonna go down, but we were both alive and hadn't gotten shot at in a week. There's always a bright side.

"Hey, you go check Patsy's cabin again," Starsky suggested. "I'll go get the show started and you can come relieve me after you're done."

Sounded like a good plan, so I agreed. We parted ways and I went off to casually case Patsy's hall. I pretended to be helping passengers get to the ballroom. I couldn't get close to his door again, though, because his bodyguard stood outside. I didn't want to blow my cover in case I still had one, so I just continued towards the ballroom. Starsky was making horrible jokes and not getting any laughs. The audience was more than ready to see him leave. He claimed one of the jokes was mine, but I'm taking no responsibility. That man reads more joke books than anyone I know, so I'm sure he picked it up in one of those.

We switched places so he could venture over to Patsy's cabin. He said that if he could get Patsy's wife in the talent show, the whole family was bound to come to see her perform. So he left, and I bombed. I'm no good on stage, especially on the spot like that. I barely made it through introductions. And that crazy passenger's possessive lover act finally got to be too much, so I sent Kitty's keeper after Stafford. Kill two birds with one stone. Stafford was the lucky one, he got to escape. I was left to watch cruise ship passengers pretend they were the next dynamite act. These people weren't going to be making any top ten records ever, that I could be sure of.

A few acts later, Starsky finally came back. I should say, stumbled back, because he was worse for wear.

"What happened to you?" I asked, taking in his disheveled appearance.

"Got ambushed."

"Ambushed?" I was instantly on alert. "Look, you wanna sit down?"

"No, no. I'm okay," he assured me.

He was okay, but we weren't. He had discovered that this case was a lot bigger than some simple drug deal. This was the big time, with every West Coast syndicate boss showing up for the party. It was getting too big for us, so it was time to put in a call to the mainland. We went to the captain's cabin to tell him our two-man operation was over. However, he wasn't able to hear about our problems. Someone had killed him and shoved him in the closet.

It was up to us to get word out to the authorities, so we had to get up to the communications center. But, even that was halted when we overheard one of the crew talking over the situation with Patsy's bodyguard. The word was already out on us; we were marked men. We had only one place to go now, and neither one of us were looking forward to it.

Helen let us into her cabin, but not without berating us first. She criticized us over our lack of courage, how we were all talk, how we wouldn't stick around when things got tough. Both of us were tired of playing games, so we started tossing her room to see if we could find out of what she was hiding. She knew everything about us, but we knew nothing about her. After we told her that the captain had been murdered, though, she gave in and started explaining herself.

We were startled to learn that Helen Brown was really a reporter for the Phoenix Sun. October Moss, the girl who'd been murdered back on the mainland, had been her roommate. Moss had had information about the syndicate meeting scheduled to take place on this ship, and Helen had come to town to hear about it. October's murder had happened, sadly, to the wrong person who happened to be at the 'wrong place at the wrong time.' October just happened to look like her roommate, Helen, and that's why she'd been killed.

Helen offered us the use of her room for the night, so we took advantage of the offer, and hid out and bunked down eventually. Our hostess excused herself to go get ready for bed, so while she was in the bathroom, I took first dibs.

"I'll take the chair," I said, loosening my clothes and getting ready for a night of torture.

"Hey, no, you don't have to do that," Starsky countered. "That chair's murder on your back. You take the bed."

"No, you need to rest," I said, not giving in. "Besides, I need to check on you for symptoms of a concussion. You still don't look like you're over that knock on the head."

"I'm okay," he tried to lie. "We can switch up, take turns." He looked at the bed. "Too bad it's so small or we could share."

I didn't want to have this argument. "I'm fine in the chair. Just go to sleep and I'll stand watch."

"You'll be like a pretzel tomorrow. We'll just take turns or..."

"Starsky!" I answered firmly. "I'm too tired to argue and too wired to be nice. Take the bed."

He shut up after that. I don't know if it was my tone or my expression, but he took the bed and didn't argue anymore. Helen came back out and we settled down. And I tried to doze off, but every grunt or moan Starsky uttered had me on instant alert. I checked on him, just to make sure he was okay, and then sat back at my post. I dozed off and on, not really resting. Then, hearing movement, I was instantly awake. Staring at me was Starsky, up and about and seemingly alone in the room.

"Hey, Hutch, go get in bed."

I yawned. "Starsky, it's too early to fight about this again."

"I'm awake; Helen's taking a shower. Just go lay down for a little while, okay? I'll stand guard. Just get a little sleep for me."

I had to admit, sleeping on a mattress sounded a lot better than staying in that hard chair. My back was already paying for it and I felt it even more when I got up and started moving towards the bed. I don't think I was even conscious, but I must've taken off my boots. For all I knew, I was magically transported from the chair to the bed. And as soon as I hit the softness of the mattress I was out of it.

But, it seemed like I no sooner went to sleep that I was being poked again. Starsky was hitting me with a rolled up magazine like I was some mutt, while talking about the boat stopping. It was already time to be up again, and get back to the job. No more rest for me. I started hopping around, trying to get my boots back on. Starsky tried to help, but that just made it worse. In minutes, we were fumbling out the door to find out why the boat was sitting stock still in the middle of the ocean.

Coming up on deck, we realized that we were nowhere near Acapulco. And a boat speeding away from our ship was a good indication that the party on board was getting larger. Our new passenger was Crazy Joey Fortune. Whatever had drawn him out into the open had to be big, so we followed him. If something was going down, Joey was bound to be in the middle of it.

We would have had a perfect view if Helen hadn't decided to take a shot at Joey right at that moment. I caught up to her, but they caught up to me, and Starsky was just caught up, period. And Helen wasn't really Helen or Nelly or any other name she had tried to pass off. In reality, she was Teddy Carnosffsky's daughter. Joey had killed her father, a small time hood who had fought Joey and lost, so she was bent on killing Joey herself. A circle of revenge, nice and neat. Only now, the circle included us as hostages.

Negotiations resumed once we were tied up.

Joey thought he could take over his underworld business again, but the "family" had other ideas. But Joey wasn't one to be shafted, so he had his own little contingency plan. If they wouldn't turn over power to him willingly, he would make sure that he was next in line. And if you kill whoever is first in line, then you're the next one up. So, Joey was gonna blow up the entire cruise ship just to make sure he got his way. They didn't call him Crazy Joey for nothing. But Nicky Cairo wasn't a fool either. He decided to play for the winning team, so when it was time, he switched sides.

Joey made his escape, leaving us to wait for the ship to go down, with a bomb counting down right in the same room with us. The syndicate boys were frantic, trying to figure out how to get out of this alive. Their makeshift plan of throwing the bomb out the porthole was a bad one, and bound to get us killed, so I had to speak up, warning them. Starsky and I convinced them that we knew a little bit more about bombs than they did, so it would save us all a lot of time if they'd just untie us so we could try to take care of the bomb. After a few arguments, they agreed.

We sandbagged the bomb as best we could, piling on as much cushioning as we had available in the short six minutes we had left. We herded the syndicate guys into the fartherest room, while Starsky joined me and Helen in the corner. When it finally did explode, we got through it in one piece. We didn't have a group of happy mobsters, but we were all still alive.

Stafford, the first officer, rushed in and sent us to find the other three bombs Joey had planted throughout the ship. Starsky and I split up, hoping to cover more ground, but before we parted we had to say something. We had no way of knowing if either of us would live through this.

"Hey," Starsky said. "See you around."

I nodded, knowing that he wasn't really saying goodbye. We never said goodbye, but whenever we have to separate on an assignment, we always reassure each other that we'll see each other again. We're not about to say goodbye, but we'll tell each other to be safe, and make sure we come back safely to our partner.

I found one bomb and Starsky found another one quickly, but we were still looking for a third. That third one was trickier, hiding under the ship-works where it would do the most damage. I managed to pull it out after a few twists and turns. Starsky had placed the other two bombs on a sheet and we added the third one to the pile. Without saying a word, we moved together like a smooth machine, hauling the bombs up to the top level, racing across the deck, and finally chucking them into the ocean where the explosion was muffled by the waves. Starsky and I owed a big donation to the next religious guy we could get our hands on.

The authorities arranged transport from the ship to the shore so we could pursue Joey. They also agreed to provide us a vehicle, but their definition was pretty loose. We got a dune buggy. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, but it certainly wasn't as useful as a car or jeep.

"I'll drive," I said, jumping into the driver's seat.

"Sure you know what you're doing?" Starsky asked, not quite assured of my abilities to handle the strange vehicle in the desert.

"I was raised in one of these things," I lied. The thrill of the chase made Starsky forget one simple fact. The one and only time I had handled one of these things, I crashed it with the help of Jack and a six-pack of beer.

After a few sharp turns that would make even Starsky envious, he spoke up. "I know this isn't the best time to talk about this, but what exactly did you do in Duluth?"

"That depends," I shouted over the roar of the engine.

"On what?" he shot back.

"The day of the week," I admitted, jokingly.

We killed the shocks on that thing. I think I scared Starsky more than I intended, but it felt really freeing to let loose and drive like that. Starsky did it almost every day, so it was nice to have my turn. But the ride was over soon enough. We arrested Joey and his boys. Not bad for a Sea Scout from Duluth.

Helen we dealt with separately. Joey wasn't going to press charges over the shooting and what did we have on her? She was playing for revenge, but she hadn't succeeded. Joey was behind bars now, and would be for a while. Her father was a good man and she wasn't a bad daughter. Her walk on the wrong side of the law was over and we were fine with letting her go back to her old life.

We got a free boat trip back to Bay City. Well, free being the operative word. Stafford was appointed as the new captain and required us to fulfill our roles as cruise directors the whole way back. It was much simpler this time around, since we didn't have to hide out from killers and dealers, though. And to round off the trip, Huggy made his magical debut when we docked back at port. As much as I like the guy, though, I'd never let him near me with a sword.

When the ship docked back at port, I was more than ready to get back home. I may love the open water, but after what we'd been through, I'd come to appreciate solid ground even more. I sent Starsky to the car to stow our stuff while I finished up with Stafford. He agreed to be called in if we needed him to testify, and I promised we'd never set foot on his ship again. We both were willing to agree to that.

~~~

I was in such a rush to get back to the car that I almost ran into a young woman passing by. I startled her enough that she dropped her bag. I was very apologetic when I bent down to help her.

"I'm so sorry, miss. I didn't mean to frighten you." I smiled at her, turning on the charm.

"Oh," she faltered, trying to push her belongings back into her bag. "It's okay, I should've been looking where I was going. My mind's somewhere else."

"On a beautiful day like this it's no wonder you'd let you mind wander," I said, stuffing her remaining belongings into her bag and helping her to her feet.

Just then Starsky sounded his horn, indicating that his patience at waiting had disappeared. The woman turned her head towards the sound, a little unnerved.

"That's my partner," I explained. "He must be ready to head out of here."

"Partner?" she asked.

"Police partner," I said, trying to make it clearer. "Detective Ken Hutchinson." I stuck out my hand in greeting.

She looked a little put off by my greeting, but returned it nonetheless. "Gillian Ingram."

Starsky sounded the horn again. "I gotta go," I apologized. "Sorry again about scaring you like that." One last smile and I retreated towards the car.

Starsky was waiting to leave when I got there. "What took you so long?" he asked, shifting the car out of park.

"I had to help a lady pick up her stuff."

"Old softie," he teased.

It wasn't until I looked down at my hand that I realized that I still held her small notepad. "Damn," I cursed.

"What?"

I held up the notepad. "Hers. The lady's that I ran into. Must have forgot to give it back to her."

"Did you get her name? You can call her to come pick it up at the station."

"Yeah, I guess I'll have to."

And that's how Gillian and I met.

I wouldn't say it was destiny that brought us together, more like my clumsy feet, but it was worth it. I needed someone to love and she was perfect. She enjoyed my company, and wasn't afraid to love me. We didn't rush things. I was happy just being with her. I felt loved again, felt needed, and I wasn't going to let it slip away. I spent as much time as I could with her, but even so, she could tell that I was part of a package. I told her all about Starsky, and didn't hide anything. She accepted the situation, and still loved me. I could give her all I had and she would take it because she loved me.

Starsky and I got called to a shooting behind Harry's Adult Novelty Shop. It was too late for the old homeless man, Lonely, when we got there, though. Poor Eddie, his friend, was so confused and distraught by Lonely's death. I hated to see him lose his friend like that. We had always liked Eddie; he was a good man. He always called us Starpy and Hup. No matter how many times we corrected him, it was still the same greeting. We didn't care; it was nice to be remembered at all.

When we left the scene of the crime, our shift was almost over. Starsky and I, along with our respective dates, had plans that night. We were supposed to go bowling; Starsky was finally going to meet Gillian. It was a big deal for me, for all of us.

"We still on for tonight?" he asked, turning right towards my apartment.

"'Course we are. We're looking forward to it." I looked out the window, trying to hide my slight nervousness. What if they hated each other? What if something went wrong?

"I'm picking up Nancy around seven. Want us to pick the two of you up?"

I turned my face back towards him. "Nah, Gillian's working late. I'll meet you there around eight and she's supposed to meet us there."

"Sounds good to me," he said, pulling the car to a stop.

I moved to get out, but he pulled me back. "You okay?" he asked, looking at me more directly now.

"I'm fine," I lied. "Just ready for a shower." I got out of the car and leaned back in the window. "See you at eight." I smiled one last time before turning to leave. I heard the car leave as I started to climb my stairs.

I took a shower and tried to calm my nerves. What was there to be nervous about? Starsky wanted me to be happy, Gillian loved me, and there was nothing to be worried about. But there was always a fear in the back of my mind, wondering what might have been and what was to be.

Nancy and Starsky took my mind off my troubles while we waited for Gillian. Nancy was not the brightest girl in the world, but she was fun to be around and Starsky seemed to enjoy her, so I went along with it. Gillian joined us a little before nine and my mood lightened even more. Introductions went well and that was all I could hope for. Starsky and Nancy faded into the background as Gillian and I drank up the sight of one another. She was a wonderful person and I knew I could fall in love with her completely if I let myself.

After about two hours I drove her back home, but was concerned when she didn't want to invite me in. We had both agreed that we wouldn't push, so I walked her to the door and wished her a good night. We weren't supposed to see each other the next night, but I would see her again soon.

The next day, another guy was attacked in the porno section of town. We met Huggy to get a tip on who might be doing it. He told us there was a duo named Grossman, a man and his mother. Can you beat that? His mother. The term 'family business' turned completely on its head. We went down to Venus Massage to talk to them, but of course they were unhelpful and gave us no clues.

Starsky wanted to check and see if the girl who offered to fix his arm with a good massage could really help him. It was awkward, him asking permission from me if it was all right. I assured him it was, and then went outside to wait. When he came out a few minutes later, though, he didn't look happy. In fact, he looked somewhere between shocked and disgusted.

"Hey, what's the matter?" I asked, getting into the car. "Lady wouldn't give you a special?"

"Nothing's wrong," he snapped, throwing the car into drive. "Just drop it."

"Whoa, touchy, touchy."

"Seriously, Hutch," he said, turning towards me. "I can't talk about it right now. Later, though."

"Ooooookay," I responded, wary. Anytime Starsky puts off something, it's big. But he would tell me in due time, so I dropped it.

I kept glancing over at him and checking out his mood. It hovered between anger and confusion, but I didn't push him. I wasn't about to make him snap at me just because some girl at the porno made him mad. I was going to ask him to hang out with me tonight, but I'd wait until later and then call him. Maybe he'd feel better by then.

Starsky dropped me off in front of my apartment and didn't ask to come in.

"You gonna be okay?" I asked him, getting out of the car.

He smiled, slightly. "Yeah, I'll be okay. I'll see you later, huh?"

"Sure." I shut the car door and walked towards the stairs.

The car didn't leave right away, like he was watching me. I didn't turn around, just went up the stairs and away from his prying eyes. I wished he would talk to me, tell me what's wrong. Something had to have happened at the massage parlor. I just wish I knew what. Maybe the girl had said something to him to make him mad. Maybe he thought of something in there that reminded him of his past. I didn't know, but I wished I did.

I sat down to watch some television, but there was nothing really on. I caught some of the news, but after a day of seeing it on the job, the last thing you wanna do is watch more death and destruction. Giving up after half an hour, I took a shower. When I finished I decided to call Starsky. Whatever it was that was bothering him, he needed to talk about it. Maybe we'd get a pizza or something. I was startled, though, when the phone rang just when I lay my hand on it. Maybe he was calling me, ready to talk.

"Starsky?" I answered.

"No, not Starsky," a feminine voice came on the line.

"Gillian," I relaxed. "Didn't expect to hear from you."

"I know I said we shouldn't see each other tonight, but if you're not doing anything I'd really like to be with you."

Everyone was acting strange, but at least I could be with one willing person. "I'm not doing a thing," I said. "Want me to come over to your place?"

"Please?" she asked.

"Give me ten minutes to get some clothes on and I'll be right there."

I hung up the phone, pleased that I would be getting an unscheduled date tonight. I went into my bedroom, trying to decide what I would wear. Opening my closet, I saw very little to choose from. I had to do laundry soon or else I'd have to start wearing stuff twice. Gillian always liked my black shirt and it was one of the only things left clean, so it was an easy decision. Pairing it with some white pants, I was set for a night out. I was almost ready to go, putting on my leather jacket and making sure my keys were in the pocket, when the phone rang. I grabbed it, hoping to get rid of the person fast.

"Yeah, make it fast," I answered.

"Hey." Starsky's voice came on the line.

"Yeah, whaddya want?" I was acting testy.

"Nothing. How you doing?"

"I'm going out, that's what's doing!"

"Oh, yeah. With Gillian?"

"No, the Boston Strangler," I shot back before softening my voice. "Of course with Gillian."

"Well, have a good time."

"Yeah, thanks Mom," I teased. "Oh, I'll be in early." I hung up the phone.

After getting to Gillian's in record time, I realized I didn't need to rush. She didn't want to go out, didn't want to have a night on the town. She just wanted to be held, to talk, to just be with me. I could do that; I was good at that. So, that's what we did. We spent the whole night just laying together, talking about nothing important, just basking in the company of one another. I didn't even spend the night, but that wasn't so unusual. I came home and slept very well, all my thoughts centered around how special this relationship felt compared to all the others I've had.

Starsky picked me up the next morning, but didn't say a word about what had been troubling him the day before. Whatever it was, it must have resolved itself. He listened to me go on and on about how much fun Gillian and I had had just doing nothing. I was living on a natural high. I never stopped smiling, never came down, never darkened my mood. But it wasn't long before we were again called to the Stardust for a shooting. Another day, another porno.

We arrived at the scene and took off after the suspect, chasing him into an alley. But something happened, something I never thought would. I froze. When the first bullet came past us all I could think about were the what ifs. The night with Gillian gave way to the years with Starsky. What if something happened on the job? What if Starsky had something important to tell me last night and I blew him off? What if I lost him? What if he wasn't there anymore? I stood stock-still and couldn't work in sync with Starsky like I always had. It's a wonder we made it out alive, but we did. The suspect escaped and I collapsed onto a nearby crate, shaking.

"I'm scared, Starsk. I'm scared," I admitted.

"Yeah, me too," he offered, holding up his gun. "Every time I pull this thing."

"That's not what I'm talking about," I admonished him. "I froze. For the first time I got to thinking... I coulda gotten you killed."

"No way." Starsky tried to play it down. "Did you see the way they took off?"

"Yeah, but if they hadn't," I answered, raising my voice. "I didn't cover you. I didn't work the way we work."

"Forget it!" he tried to stop me. "Your mind was elsewhere."

That's exactly right. My mind wasn't on the single moment; it was on all the moments before and yet to come. It was on all the things I might miss if I didn't pay attention to the here and now. My mind was on Starsky so much that it wasn't on Starsky at all, if that makes any sense. He tried to quiet me, assure me that it wasn't a big deal. I couldn't believe that because I knew the truth. It wasn't about me freezing up, it was about me being blind to what needed to be done. I wouldn't talk about any of it on the drive back to the station. Starsky finally dropped it.

I wanted to talk to him about it when we got back to the office, but as soon as we arrived he got a call from the tailor's and had to leave. I was left to work on the shooting report by myself. How that man gets out of paperwork is a miracle.

Starsky returned about three hours later, saying it had taken longer than he expected. He offered no other explanation, so I didn't ask for one. The time alone had done me good. I had finally come to a decision. What I was doing to Gillian, to both of us, was not fair. I was splitting myself between her and a memory and until I could decide which one I wanted to focus on, I couldn't live with either. She deserved better; someone who could invest everything he was into her alone. I wasn't that person yet and until I was, I shouldn't be with her. Freezing up in that alley made me realize that I was stuck in the 'what might have been' mode of thinking and none of them had to do with her. I would talk to Gillian that night and explain the situation. I thought I'd play it off, say the stress of the job was getting to me and I needed time to sort things out. It wasn't all a lie. It did have an impact on the job because next time I froze up with the questions of what-if running through my mind, I might get both Starsky and I killed. Unfortunately, every time I tried to call Gillian, no one answered the phone.

Another two hours in the squad room gave us the time us to clear up all our waiting files. But my girlfriend still hadn't picked up the phone. We headed home, Starsky dropping me off at my place.

"You going out with Gillian tonight?" he asked when he pulled up to the curb in front of my apartment.

"If I can get her on the phone, maybe," I sighed. "She hasn't been home anytime I called."

"Oh," he answered, noncommittally. "Well, call me if you want to do something later on. I mean, if you don't end up having plans."

His voice sounded weird, but I let it slide. I wasn't in the mood to analyze him, so I just said thanks and headed upstairs. One shower, two hours, and three unanswered phone calls still yielded no Gillian. I might have been a little anxious when the phone finally rang, fully expecting Gillian's voice.

"Gillian?" I asked.

"No," Huggy's voice answered. "But Starsky wants you over at her place right now."

That put me on full alert. "What's wrong, Huggy?"

"Don't know, but I'd make haste over there, dig?"

I did.

I don't even remember hanging up the phone or the drive over. It felt like one minute I was talking to Huggy and the next minute I was walking into Gillian's apartment where my partner stood, pasty white, over Gillian's body laying on the floor.

I couldn't understand, couldn't understand any of it.

She was dead, she was lying there dead, and Starsky was telling me that Grossman did it, that she worked for him. But that couldn't be right because the only girls that worked for Grossman were hookers and Gillian wasn't a hooker. No, he was wrong. He was trying to make me mad, and succeeding.

I snapped when he asked me what kind of money I thought bought her place. I hit him, slugged him hard, and vented on him because he was there. It couldn't be true, it couldn't.

He kept telling me that she was gonna give it all up for me, but that didn't change the fact that she was gone. It didn't matter that she was going to give up everything for me, because I was going to give her up, maybe for a little while or maybe forever.

I fell into his waiting arms, crying and letting all my pain and struggle leak out into his strong embrace. She had loved me, but she was a hooker. She had been willing to give up her old life for a new one with me. She had deserved so much better.

It took me a while, but finally I regained control of my emotions. Starsky took care of the crime scene when the uniforms showed up, but he stayed as close to me as possible and tried to shield me from the sorry details when the crime lab showed up. But the longer I looked at Gillian's body being poked and photographed and bagged, the angrier I got. Angry at myself for being so ready to let her go, but mostly mad at Grossman. I was more than ready to exact revenge on him.

Starsky told me that Grossman had called Gillian's place when he had first arrived on the scene. Thinking Starsky, who answered the phone, was actually me, Grossman told him to meet him at the theatre. So, that's where we headed. That's where I'd be able to take back a piece of what he had ripped away from me. But it was a clean bust. Even with the horror of seeing Gillian up on that movie screen while Grossman taunted me, I still made a clean bust. Revenge would be a wonderful thing, but I wouldn't let this man take away another piece of my life. Gillian was gone and I was not ready to leave Starsky for an ill-thought murder, even of someone as despicable as Grossman.

~~~

That choice I had to make, between a reality and a memory, wasn't the same decision now because what once was a memory was now here in the flesh again. Twenty-four hours a day, constantly, Starsky was there. When I broke down, it was his arms that held me. When I needed the comfort, it was his lips that touched my skin. I didn't set out to choose against Gillian, but wasn't that what had happened? The memory of what we once were and the reality of what we could be again, that was worth trying for. There was no other alternative. I felt safe with him, felt like I belonged. He took my mind off things, he made me forget.

I helped him move to his new apartment and I was the first one he allowed in his new bedroom. He held me as I slept, dreaming again of letting Gillian slip away. She was gone and he was still here. Was it wrong that I took comfort in that? Over the course of the month I lashed out at him and latched onto him. I blamed him for making me love again and then blamed myself for not being enough. I just wanted him to hold me and promise that the pain would go away.

Over time the pain did ease a little. When we went back to work, it gave me something to concentrate on. As long as I was focused on the problems outside, I didn't have to deal with the problems that still remained inside. On the streets it was more clear-cut. A person hurts you, they're the enemy. But what happens when the person hurting you is also the person that's loving you? They're not the enemy and you're not the victor. It was going to hurt for a long time, but concentrating on the cases pushed it aside for a while.

We were on stakeout in front of the Sunny Glen Funeral Home, a front for Amboy's prostitutes to have a warm place to do their tricks. We were more concerned with getting the big man himself, but we figured that the little fish could help us fry the big one. We even set up Goose, Amboy's less-than-brilliant limo driver, so he would lead us to Amboy's bank drop. It was a good plan, but without any follow through. We busted Goose, the driver, and Itchy, Amboy's cook, but Amboy himself slipped through our fingers yet again. And even those two wouldn't stay in lock-up for long because we had crossed the county line during pursuit. Everything, every piece of evidence, was invalid because we crossed over.

Mickey, an underage hooker in Amboy's stable, got out on bail, too. She was going right back into the lion's den and nothing I could say would prevent it. Amboy had his hooks deep into her. I wanted to save her, make sure one less kid ended up on a slab in the morgue, but even though I offered my help, she just refused it.

Starsky took me out to lunch, trying to take my mind off the complete waste of our morning. At least, he attempted to take me out to lunch. A place that has as many bugs and health violations as his latest gourmet discovery would probably put me in the hospital. And I thought it was a relief when the Torino's faulty horn distracted us. It was faulty all right, faulty enough to fool us into getting ambushed by two of Amboy's goons.

So we were "persuaded" to meet the pretentious Mr. Amboy as he sat reading his London Daily Dispatch. He really thought that offering us a bribe would go down easier with a glass of 1966 Dom Perignon and some Beluga caviar. Didn't he realize that we didn't take bribes, no matter what form they came in? We played along, though, soaking up the atmosphere as we bided our time. Starsky had never had caviar, so after eating my own portion, I offered some to him. He didn't find it half bad, so maybe there was a touch of elegance in him yet.

We wiped out two of Amboy's men and a chef on the way out as we retreated from his filth.

Huggy would know what was up if anyone, so we headed over there. Fletching is very important in darts, but so is realizing that the house always has the advantage and even your friends will play dirty. After I lost my dignity at darts, we got what we came for. Huggy told us that Amboy had a big score coming up, so it made sense that he would be nervous with us snooping around.

The two of us crashed Amboy's fancy restaurant, _Andre's_. The whole time we were rousting the place, we were making jokes and making threats Amboy was yelling his head off about police harassment, and how he didn't deserve it. I figured he deserved whatever we dished out and more. He ran girls, even children, for his own ends. He destroyed too many childhoods just so he could make a quick buck.

But if Amboy wasn't gonna tell us the score, we'd just have to stake out his place until something happened. So that's just what we did, spending the night in the Torino, watching Amboy's dark house. It was gonna be a long night; I could feel it.

"I bet he never even makes a move," Starsky complained, hunching down in his seat.

"We can't let him get away, Starsk," I reminded him, straining to watch for any indication that Amboy was going to try to give us the slip.

Starsky grunted, not responding. After a few minutes, though, he decided to venture into a touchy subject. "You can't bring her back, you know."

I turned to look at him. Why was he bringing that up now? We had work to do.

"Saving Mickey, saving Sweet Alice, saving every hooker in Bay City isn't gonna bring her back."

"I'm not trying to bring her back!" I snapped back, turning to watch the house more closely. "I'm trying to get a criminal off the streets. I'm trying to do my job."

"You're trying to get rid of the guilt you've still got."

"Why do you have to bring this up now?" I looked back at him. "Can't you just leave her dead and buried?"

"Can you?" he asked, his eyes softening. He reached his hand out and placed it in on mine. "It wasn't your fault."

"I was gonna leave her," I reminded him. "Whose fault was that?"

I could see the hurt in his eyes. He wasn't going to let this slide; he wasn't going to let me apologize my way out of this one easily.

"Starsky, I'm sorry." I wilted, my hand grabbing his arm before he could pull it away. "I didn't mean it like it sounded."

"What do you want from me, Hutch?" He pulled his hand back, turning so he didn't have to look at me. "First Jack, then Gillian. Why do I take the blame for everything that goes wrong and get nothing when it goes right?"

I put my hand on his cheek, turning his face back towards me. "I don't blame you, not really. It's just that so much went wrong so fast and...and you were there to take the heat."

"I'm tired of taking the heat, though. I want us to be friends again, to not break out in an argument just because..."

"Shhh, I know." I pulled him towards me, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I'm still hanging on to everything. I'll get better, I promise." I pulled him towards me again, but he pulled back.

"I'm really tired," he said. "Not tonight, okay?"

I dropped my hand away from his face. "Yeah, yeah, not tonight." I readjusted in my seat. "Why don't you lay down and try to get some rest? I'll take first shift."

"Okay," he said, sounding defeated.

He moved to the back seat and settled himself in while I switched over to the driver's seat. Midnight to four in the morning, four hours of watching a dark house do nothing. That was pretty exciting, let me tell you. Every minor movement or sound put me on alert and every false lead pushed me deeper into regret. It was almost a pleasure when my shift was over because I knew that I could at least rest my eyes and forget about the nothingness around us.

I shook Starsky awake, even though he mumbled, "I told you not tonight. I've got a headache." No, not tonight. Nothing would get settled tonight. We switched seats and I tried to get as comfortable as possible stretched out in the back of the car.

It didn't even seem like I had closed my eyes, though, before Starsky was trying to wake me up. I knew that I had to have gone to sleep, though, since one minute I was staring at a three hundred pound hairdresser with a curling iron, and the next I was staring at my partner's face as he told me that Amboy just had a visitor. I hadn't even gotten into the front seat before Starsky was speeding after the mystery vehicle.

He said that running the license plate was useless since he already knew that Squire Fox was behind the wheel. That was about two seconds before we were made and three seconds before we were in hot pursuit. And right in the middle of it I realized what had been bugging me all along, what the missing piece had been.

Amboy had been reading the London Daily Dispatch when we first saw him. Why would he have that paper unless it gave a clue to the big deal about to go down? Starsky and I picked up a copy of our own and Starsky folded it just like Amboy had his. And right there in the corner was what we were looking for: a headline that read 'Passengers Leaving Southwold for Luxury Cruise' set to arrive tomorrow night.

We had something to confront Amboy with, finally, something concrete that we could push him on. We needed to figure out just how the whole thing was going down, needed to head him off before he could make a move. But first we needed a shower because we both looked like we'd run the course after our stakeout. So, a slight detour to my apartment for a shower and a change of clothes was in order.

I quickly took my shower first, then let Starsky have his turn. I heard the shower shut off and Starsky retreat to the living room. I walked out of the bedroom wearing my blue shirt, the one with the guitar on the back. I knew it was his favorite. I hadn't worn it since Jack's death, and I knew what it meant to wear it now. He was buttoning up his own shirt in the living room, not really noticing much.

"Hey, you about ready to..." he turned around, but was quickly silenced. "You're wearing..."

"I know," I nodded, smiling. "It's time. Life moves on, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah I guess it does," he acknowledged.

That was the end of it. No more passing the blame to Starsky, no more trying to make him pay for all the things I had made wrong in our lives. He wasn't the enemy, so why was I treating him like one? He deserved better, deserved his partner and friend back. He deserved me.

A few casual glances from him in my direction as we drove over to Amboy's gave me an indication that he had accepted my apology. We were back again, not letting our past get in the way of what needed to be done. We showed up at Amboy's place as a team again.

Amboy kept screaming about harassment, even got his lawyer Stockwood to back him up, but I was still more concerned with the lost soul sitting on the couch. Mickey deserved better than this, deserved a life away from his control. I pleaded with her to give us a call about Amboy, but I had little hope that she'd follow through with it.

Maybe we were pushing our luck when we went back on stakeout at Amboy's house again. Maybe the bee that stung my butt was a good indication that this was a bad idea, but when you have Squire Fox in your sights and the temptation of bringing down Amboy, you tend to ignore all outside indications of failure. Dobey sure wasn't too thrilled about us getting brought in for a violation of orders, but then again he was the same person that gave us sick leave to pursue the case on our own time after Mickey called crying, with a lead on Amboy's planned escape.

Unfortunately, she'd lied to us. We chased down the catering truck, but Amboy wasn't inside. Squire Fox and Goose were, though, and for once we got some real information out of them. We even managed to rescue Mickey before she'd been roughed up too badly and she told us where Amboy had _really_ gone--to meet Chuckles. I hated the fact that Mickey had to take a beating before she'd realize just how bad life with Amboy really was.

It was with great pleasure that I took that scum, Amboy, down personally. He copped a plea three days later, but still received thirty years in jail. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. He was going to be off the streets for a long time, far away from the people he hurt. As for Mickey, she was starting a new life, a straight life, all on her own.

And it appeared that having a life on her own was what Abby was doing, too. I got no phone call from her, as she had promised. I got a very short letter letting me know that her mom was okay and she was going to visit her brother. Family was important to her, so extending her visit seemed like a good idea. The opportunity didn't present itself very often.

~~~

I couldn't save everyone, but I could keep on trying. Starsky's solution to not being able to save the world was picking up girls. Takes your mind off the world's problems, he said.

Yeah, but what if you wanted to just concentrate on the person right in front of you? That's why I chose the guitar shirt for one more go 'round when we went out to the club. I wanted to be with Starsky, he wanted to be with me, but he also wanted the barrier of a woman between us. He wanted to have it both ways. It wasn't the way I wanted to play it, but I had promised myself that the past would not interfere with our friendship or our partnership. Instead, I concentrated on finding someone for my own pleasure.

We left my apartment and went to the Play Pen. Huggy was running the place while his cousin was away, so we decided to give it a shot. It was our night off and we were looking for some 'no strings attached' action. We found it, too. Well, we almost found it. We bumbled over each other like schoolboys at recess. As hard as Starsky was pulling us towards an erotic foursome, that's how hard I was pulling towards a quick lay without an audience that included my partner.

Unfortunately, Dobey was looking for us to get neither. He called us in on a case that was nothing but purely weird right from the start.

We've had strange cases, really strange cases, in our careers before. But the vampire really took the cake. He was a crippled dance instructor who was trying to resurrect his dead wife. It was also the perfect opportunity to let Starsky do what Starsky does best: get deeply involved in otherworldly things. Vampires and werewolves and ritualistic offerings--it was right up Starsky's alley.

I was patient, and went along for the ride; more than willing to play along with whatever crazed notion Starsky brought up. Yes, I would always play the skeptic, but to see him enjoying the out-of-this-world ideas that this case brought forth meant a lot more to me than playing the fool with garlic and holy water.

After a case like that, we were both in the mood for a quick roll in the sack--just not with each other--so we called the girls we'd met at the Play Pen before the case started. Their names were Jane and Bobbette, and we arranged to meet them there again. Finally, the girls were there, we were there, and Huggy was most definitely there. Or out there, I should say. Since the self-proclaimed vampire had almost bitten Starsky, Huggy was convinced that he would turn into a bat right in front of our eyes. Starsky even played it up for laughs, using popcorn for fake teeth. I merely looked bored and let him have his fun.

We ended up going back to the girls' place, all four of us, against my urging that splitting into twosomes would be better. Ultimately, we didn't merely have a one-night stand with two girls _we_ couldn't remember, we did it with girls who couldn't even remember our names in the heat of passion. Starsky and his lady were in one bedroom, while me and mine were in the other one getting comfortable, when Jane and Bobbette would alternate our names like a rolodex. It was like a funhouse foursome where Starsky and I couldn't touch each other, but we may as well have been there together nevertheless. This was what we were reduced to—screwing any warm female body as long as it wasn't each other and as long as no emotion entered into it.

We left the girls early in the morning. It didn't give us time to do more than make a mad dash down to the station. We had no time to change, or get another set of clothes from either of our apartments, so we showered and changed in the police station's locker room.

As we were getting ready for our shift, Starsky was doing his best to distract me by running through a spiel of what-if questions. When he suggested that changing his name to Anderson would have made him a _doctor_, I had to have an explanation. I know how the man's mind works, but sometimes he throws curves that not even a psychic could predict. The comment that stopped me cold, though, was his last one.

"You know something?" he asked, looking closely at me. "There's alot of what if questions you could ask yourself, Hutch. You just gotta think about them."

With that he left the locker room, leaving me contemplating what he meant. I wanted to believe that the question running through both our minds was what if I could love him again, like before? What if I could just accept what he was willing to give and nothing more? What if we could try to work the middle, instead of me begging for all or nothing? What if I could admit that I had never stopped loving him?

~~~

Starsky startled me out of my what-ifs by calling me back to the matter at hand: work. We didn't have any reports to finish up, so we were free to cruise the streets. If I had known what would soon transpire, I would have gladly accepted piles of reports. Instead, we were called to a robbery-in-progress at a jewelry store. It seemed routine, but wasn't.

It quickly escalated into a gunfight between the suspects and the police. That included Starsky and me, and two uniform cops. It ended with one of the robbers getting shot, along with a female civilian. The civilian, unfortunately, had been hit by one of us. One shot from a police gun turned our whole world upside down. That unfortunate lady was dead, killed by the same people who had intended to protect the innocent.

We filed the reports, and were waiting for results from the ballistics tests. Through all of that, four cops were left wondering which one of us would be found guilty of the accidental shooting. Of course, her husband, Alexander Drew, wanted to know who had ended her life. Really, we all wanted to know that, but there was a part of us that didn't want to _ever_ know. How could we live with the knowledge that we had accidentally shot a civilian who had done nothing more than had been in the wrong place at the wrong time? We feared that knowledge, but we also knew that Mr. Drew would not sleep easily unless he found out who was responsible.

Before we could resolve that crisis, we had another one to face. Mac McDermott, one of the officers at the scene of the robbery, was killed by a car bomb. It made no sense. Mac was a beat cop, not a heavy hitter. He wasn't into anything that should've gotten him killed. Well, nothing more than being a cop, that is. After the investigation at the scene, I got the uniforms to take care of his dad when we headed back to the station. Mac was all he had. Now what was he supposed to do? His son was gone, he was alone, and there wasn't a single reason why.

We called down to the file room when we got back, and ordered all of Mac's cases to be brought up so we could look them over and try to get a clue as to who was responsible. Sally Heagan brought them to us, much to Starsky's delight. She was a woman cop who wanted to get out of the file room and into some action. Starsky saw her as a toy to fondle while on duty, and fondle he did. Groping, hugging, pinching right in the middle of the squad room while I had to watch. She was enjoying it, he was enjoying it, and I was boiling.

Why was I so angry? Wasn't I the one who said I didn't need him like that anymore? Well, yes I had, but I was also the one he took care of at night and stood behind during the day. I was angry because no matter what happened between us, there could never be that kind of open affection between us in public, simply because that wasn't what was accepted by the world we lived in.

Sally excused herself and got free of Starsky's clutches. Maybe she noticed my tension while watching them. Starsky noticed it, too, because he said something as soon as she left.

"What is your problem?" he asked sternly.

"Nothing!" I snapped, trying to grab a file from the pile Sally had left.

"Don't tell me nothing," he argued, slapping his hand on top of the pile and right on top of my own hand. I pulled it sharply from his grasp.

"You wanna know what my problem is?" I asked. "I'm sitting here watching my partner manhandle a fellow officer and get away with it."

"What, Sally?" he said, feigning ignorance. "She likes it."

"Yeah, I'm sure she does," I snorted, shuffling papers on my desk. "I'm sure she likes it a lot. And you feel all right for doing it, too."

"What's this all about, Hutch?" he asked quietly.

"It's about something I want that nobody can give me." I looked directly at him. "It's about me learning to accept that none of this will change anything."

He still looked confused. It really wasn't his fault, it was just who he was. He flirted with everybody and didn't see any reason to stop.

I relaxed a little, calming myself. "It's okay. I'm sorry I blew up like that. It's all the tension from Mac's killing, and the shooting and everything," I lied. Smiling, I reached out my hand. "Now, hand over one of those files so we can get to the bottom of all this, huh?"

He accepted my lie and handed over the file. The squad room was not the place to be having this kind of discussion. That was something to be discussed later, something for a time when we weren't under suspicion for killing an innocent woman, or worrying about who blew up a fellow cop's car. So, we sat and read over the files in silence for the entire day and well into the night. Oh, we chatted back and forth, went out for a quick bite, talked about our lack of suspects, but we didn't really talk about what was bothering me, and for that I was thankful. That was a talk for another time, another place, when we could really be honest again.

After a whole day reading files, the best lead we could come up with was Flashy Floyd. He had threatened Mac after his arrest, so that was the best shot we had. We headed over to the Chapel of Bodily Invigoration to question his whereabouts. That seemed pointless since he had an ironclad alibi.

While we were playing around with Floyd, another cop was killed. Cannor, Mac's partner, was poisoned in a bar across town. We got the call as we headed back to the station, but by the time we got there it was too late. That was when we realized that these two cases had become one. Alexander Drew was not headed back to DC with his wife's body, like he planned; he was right here in Bay City taking down every cop he felt had been responsible for his wife's death. And that list had us as the next in line.

Drew's supervisor at the federal bureau that employed him, a man named Cole, didn't want to be helpful at first. That is, until I persuaded him that we were not going to just sit back and wait for our number to come up. When the truth finally did come out, though, I'd have almost rather it remained a secret. A grieving widower we could have handled. Even a crazed lunatic might have been something we could have dealt with. But Drew was all of those and more. He was a professional assassin who never missed his target, and he wasn't about to tarnish his record by missing either of us.

Starsky couldn't take it lying down, but then again neither could I. We headed down to the garage to pick up the car and hit the streets. Someone somewhere had to know something about this man. However, car bombs tend to slow down your pursuit of justice. It's a good thing Starsky's more observant than I am, or else we would have both been blown to bits. And as hard as Cole and Dobey were fighting with us to go into protective custody, we were fighting against it. If they couldn't keep us safe in our own police garage, how could they keep us safe anywhere? It was our lives, our blood that was going to be spilled when it all came crashing down, so whether we were going into protective custody or not was going to be our decision.

That's how we ended up in the car, driving to Starsky's place. When he gets mad or needs to think, he drives. Unconsciously, he seems to head right where he needs to go to settle his issues and this time that place happened to be his apartment. I followed him up the stairs without pushing him to talk. It would come; I just had to wait. We entered the apartment and I watched him grab a beer from the kitchen, bringing one back for me. He handed mine over and took a seat in the fan-back chair before I said anything.

"You ticked Dobey off pretty good, you know."

"He'll get over it," he said, taking another drink from his bottle. "We deserve a say in how we die, don't you think?"

"Anywhere we go, we're gonna be targets," I volunteered.

Starsky sighed. "I know it. I blew up at them and I shouldn't have, but I hate being boxed in like that."

"Damned if we do, damned if we don't," I said, playing with the label on my beer.

"Like a rat in a maze," he half-joked.

"So what're we gonna do?"

He looked up towards the ceiling. "Take their deal I guess."

"And be decoys at some safe house?"

He lowered his eyes so he could look at me again. "Better than being decoys out in the open, don't you think?" He smiled, trying to get me to see his point. "Besides, it's a free mini-vacation."

"Forced imprisonment is not a vacation, Starsk. It's more...well, imprisonment."

"Yeah, I know," he said, deflating. "But playing it close to home isn't gonna solve anything either."

"Never has," I responded, standing up and taking my beer into the kitchen. I heard him follow me, but I didn't turn around.

"Now or later?" he asked.

I knew what he was asking, whether I wanted to talk about the other problems in our lives now or later.

"Later," I replied, not turning around. "One crisis at a time."

So he left it alone. We headed back to the station without another mention of the conversation we still needed to have. We agreed to go into protective custody, under the stipulation that we would be used as decoys to lure Drew out. Even when we were in the hotel room, reassuring Dobey that this was the way it had to be, we had to convince ourselves a time or two of the same thing. When Dobey left, we didn't speak for a while. The discarded Bible I had been reading rested on top of the heater, while Starsky reclined in between the two beds, staring at a dark television screen. The police show he had been watching didn't seem to appeal to him anymore.

"Are you ready to do this again?" he asked from his resting place.

"Do what?"

"Die again. Be killed for something we might or might not have done. Die for doing our jobs?"

I moved over to lay across my bed so I could look down at him. "It's what we do."

He looked up at me. "I'm tired, Hutch. I'm tired of being scared that tomorrow's not gonna come and we're wasting our todays."

"Pretty profound for a guy horizontal on the floor of a cheap hotel room, don't you think?" I teased, trying to make him stop talking about such depressing topics.

"Don't you ever get tired of it?" he asked.

"I can't get tired," I admitted. "There's too much left to do, too many people to save."

"We can solve everyone else's problems, but never our own, huh?"

"Not now, Starsk. I told you we'd talk about it later." I sat up on the bed, trying to escape the conversation, but he wouldn't let me.

He brought his legs down from where they'd been perched, one ankle propped up on each of the two beds, and sat right in front of me on his bed. "How come we always seem to run in opposite directions when it comes to this?"

"Because," I said, looking at him, "Whenever we run in the same direction, you always take a detour."

He thought about that for a second, then got up and walked towards the door. Checking the locks, he made sure they were tightly set before turning back towards me. There was a look in his eyes that was definitely not one of a partner getting ready to discuss our next move in the case. This was a look of a hunter out to snag his prey.

"Starsky," I began as he started towards me. "Starsky, what do you think you're doing?"

He was on my bed now, coming closer.

"Starsky, Dobey's due to call us any minute."

But he didn't seem to care about Dobey, or the case, or the fact that we were pressed together on a hotel mattress, comforter stained by who knows how many nights of passion. All he cared about was kissing me, pressing his lips against mine, pushing his tongue into my mouth, as if begging to be let in, even a little.

I couldn't fight it, so I opened my mouth and accepted all he wanted to give. Our need for physical contact stretched on, only breaking when our immediate need to breathe became more insistent.

"Starsky?" I asked, breathlessly. "Have you gone completely out of your mind!"

"I'm not detouring, Hutch," he responded, still out of breath himself. "I'm here, you're here, and tomorrow isn't guaranteed."

"So you wanna risk our lives, our jobs, just for a quickie because you're afraid?" That was a low blow, I knew, but I had to knock some sense into him somehow.

He recoiled, as if I had hit him. "No, you ignorant fool. I'm willing to risk it because I love you!"

And that's when he said it for the first time. My partner finally said he loved me in protective custody while we were holed up in a dirty hotel room waiting for an assassin to take us out. I sat there, staring at him with wide eyes, and not really believing what I had just heard.

"Didn't you hear me?" he pushed. "I said I love you!"

"Great time to bring this up!" I shot back, jumping off the bed. "You've gotta have the worst timing on the planet, you know that?" I turned to look at him, sprawled dumb-founded on the mattress.

"What do you want from me?" he shot back, joining the standoff as he rose from the bed. "I finally tell you that I love you and you act like I've gone round the bend. I thought that's what you wanted!"

"What I want," I began, "is for you to mean it. I don't want you to try to finesse me like one of your flings. I'm here, and I'll be here tomorrow, and the next day, and the next."

"And I will be, too." He started pacing. "I just don't understand you, Hutch. I'm offering myself to you and all you can do is throw my offer back in my face." He stopped to stare at me. "Don't you want me anymore?"

That broke my heart. He could tear down every wall I had so carefully built just by being himself. "Of course I want you. Oh, how I want you," I breathed. "In case you hadn't notice, that was _my_ tongue half-way down your throat."

"Then love me like you want to be loved, Hutch." He moved closer, pressing his lips onto mine again. Pulling back, he begged, "Be here with me now, and don't make me worry about a tomorrow that might never come."

And that's how we ended up on the bed, bodies pressed together like two teenagers out parking. That's how my wandering fingers found his straining jeans, yearning to be taken off. That's how our jeans joined our discarded shirts and underclothes on the tattered rug. That's how my mouth found his aching cock, leaking and waiting to explode. Our captain and the Fed were less than a hundred feet away, ready to walk in the door or call us any minute, and we were laying on a worn out mattress, making no promises about tomorrow, and trying not to remember that if anything went wrong, there would be no tomorrow to worry about. We were fools; we were reckless. We were breaking every rule there was. But we were together, for that brief moment, and that's all I cared about.

I was just finishing up washing the evidence off my face when the phone rang. We were being called in for our nightly stint as ducks in a barrel. Condemned men should have a last meal before they give their lives. Only this time, Starsky got his main meal after dessert. I wondered what this would do to his mood when we returned to the room.

We were both surprised to see Sally stumbling through her first undercover gig as a waitress in the steak house downstairs. The poor girl didn't know which end was up, but she was trying. A full meal later, after Starsky's baked potato mysteriously ended up on my plate, we headed back upstairs.

"Drew isn't gonna stop before this whole thing is over, one way or another," Starsky said as he sat down on his bed.

"I know," I said, closing the door to our room before turning to meet his gaze.

"Professional assassins don't miss," he pointed out. "He's just biding his time, playing with us."

"We'll make it through," I promised, lying through my teeth.

"But," his voice faltered. "What if...what if..."

"Asking questions that there are no answers for is pointless." I wanted to push his doubt aside, as I walked over to sit on the bed with him.

"I know nothing's gonna go wrong, but..." he turned to gaze into my eyes. "You're my partner. Never forget that, okay?"

I didn't know if he was trying to exert possession or just state the obvious. "I know; never doubt that."

"And we're gonna deal with everything as it comes, okay?"

I was seriously confused as to why he was going on this guilt trip tonight, but I nodded.

"Go get some rest," he ordered, a smile coming to his lips. "We've got another day to play cat and mouse."

I went to my bed, but right before I drifted off I had to wonder whether Starsky meant we were playing cat and mouse with Drew, or with each other.

Dobey and Cole busted in the next morning, rudely waking us. Sally had been kidnapped, and Drew was on the phone right then, ready to trade--Sally for us. We agreed to meet him alone out at the old oilfield, much to Cole's displeasure. I was sure that Starsky was going to pop him one if he stayed around much longer. Since Starsky was too wired to drive, I took the undercover plumbing truck out to the meeting place, while Starsky tried to calm down in the passenger's seat.

The gunfight started before we even stopped the vehicle. Drew was shooting at us, pinning us down, while we fired blindly at an invisible target. In the middle of that, I found Sally, alive, but tied up. I should have untied her, I know, but I just couldn't take the time.

I actually felt sorry for Drew when we finally nabbed him. He was just as much a victim as the two cops he'd killed, but the _real_ criminal couldn't even be arrested. The federal man, Cole, would go quietly back to his DC office without a backward glance at the men's lives he ruined in Bay City.

We were too tired to deal with ourselves that night, so we headed home early. We promised to talk later, when we could concentrate, though. Personally, I thought we had it worked out. I had finally accepted the fact that this wasn't an all or nothing relationship, and Starsky could be happy about that. What else was there to talk about? Maybe Starsky was having second thoughts about what we'd done? I'll admit that it had been reckless, but it wasn't going to become an everyday occurrence and he didn't seem to mind it when he was moaning in pleasure. No, that couldn't be it. We just had to sit down and work out guidelines of what it all meant to us, that's all.

The next day, we helped out at the scene of a beating. Some thirty-eight year old laundry guy had gotten beaten to death. It wasn't our case, we were just helping at the scene, but to see someone like that get it for no apparent reason unsettled me. What was the world coming to when no one was safe anymore?

When we returned to the station, some of the uniforms had heard about our little escapade at the oilfield and Sally's contribution to the case. We teased Sally a lot, but as soon as she brought up the prospect of us 'helping her out' on her new Vice assignment, we both jumped at the chance. A proposition for a threesome did not come around everyday; we would've been fools to turn it down. It was the closest Starsky and I could come to having sex together without anyone raising an eyebrow, so, of course, I was willing. As for Starsky, it was a nice offer for sex and fun.

Too bad Sally had other plans in mind. Being wrestled onto her floor was not our idea of the exercise we had been expecting, and it was definitely not intended to be foreplay.

~~~

Starsky and I didn't get to talk, not like we should have, until our next big case was thrown at us. A guy by the name of Tuscan was killed in an apparent extortion scandal surrounding Ginger Evans' Dance Studio. Yeah, the same Ginger Evans that was in all of those dance movies back when we were kids. Seems that her dance instructors were teaching more than the tango, so guess who got picked to go under as the pigeon? Let me rephrase that. Guess who got chosen to be the patsy after his partner went on and on about his own natural dancing ability and how he had the perfect character to fit the bill? I was not that partner, let me tell you that.

I can't dance, I know I can't dance, I never pretended that I could. So, Starsky would go under as a dance _instructor_ and I would be a student--a very rich and willing student. That was not my idea either. I've done a lot of things in my career, assumed a lot of covers, but I've never had Starsky literally throw me into bed--someone _else's_ bed--for the good of a case, but that's essentially what he was doing.

We went back to my apartment to hash out everything before I let him have it.

"What was all that about back in Dobey's office?" I demanded, shutting the door a little too hard.

Starsky stood up, startled, from his foraging in the refrigerator. "What was what?"

"You might as well have just said, 'Hutch would be a good one to screw the female dance instructor, Captain. He's good at that sorta thing.'"

His eyes opened wider. "I never said that!"

"Not in so many words, no. But you literally threw me at him like I was the only possible one that could do it."

"Number one, no one said you had to screw the lady," he said, advancing on me. "Number two, we can't switch roles because I'm the only one that can pass as a dance instructor, or did you forget that? And number three," he punctuated, smiling, "Ramón can't do it because he's _gay_."

That's it; my partner's gone completely insane. "Have you been dropping acid or something?"

"No, I haven't been dropping acid," he bristled. "I'm just stating facts. We'll take it as it comes. If the case calls for a little more action than we'd like, we'll deal with it, but right now you're going in as a dance student under the watchful eye of," he changed his voice into a weird accent, "Ramón, from Argentina."

"Argentina, huh?" I knew this game; I played this game. So it was my turn to put up or shut up. I brought out the best gee-golly accent I could manage and stuck out my hand. "Nice to meet you Ray-Mone. Charlie McCabe from Texas. We don't see many of them there Argentineans back where I'm from; especially not any that looks quite like you." I dropped my accent and my act. "Explain to me--and I know I'm gonna regret this--why Ramón is gay?"

"Because," he continued in his accent, but retreated again to the kitchen, "he fled his homeland in search of _dance_. He has found that no love from a woman can equal his love for dance!" He punctuated his remark with a twist of his body, then opened the refrigerator again in search of food.

I followed him into the kitchen. "Let me get this straight. This man supposedly came from another country to be a dance instructor, but just because he hasn't found the love of his life yet, he's gay?"

"Pretty much," he responded in his normal voice, bringing a cold piece of pizza out of the refrigerator with him.

"That doesn't make him gay; that makes him...Well, I don't know what that makes him--celibate at the worst. And no one's gonna know whether he's straight or not unless you plan on changing the rules."

He winked at me. "I'll know," he said, taking a bite. "Besides, I wanna try it on for a while and have some fun."

And that was the extent of my broaching the topic. I dropped the matter, didn't even want to respond to the idiocy of what he was proposing. He wanted to try being gay for a while--whatever. We had work to do and I had more important things to worry about than Starsky suddenly deciding that one of his undercover personas liked men. I didn't care-didn't want to care. Maybe it was his unconscious need to see where the real Starsky fit into the sliding scale of sexuality. Maybe it was his way of slapping me in the face and saying he wouldn't live up to the label in real life. Maybe it was just Starsky being Starsky. I didn't know what he was trying to prove. All I knew was that he was set to go undercover the next day, and I had to wait it out until it was my turn.

That happened a week after Starsky went under. I really played it up as Charlie McCabe, hayseed cowboy. Marsha, one of the crooked dance instructors, really took a liking to me, which helped out the case tremendously. The way I was flashing my toothy smile and my flash money, though, it wasn't too hard to land her as my dance instructor. She started liking me a lot more when I answered all her questions correctly. I told her I was married, rich, and willing to have a thing on the side-- the perfect set-up for her little game. Extortion is dirty, and ended up being a deadly game for Mr. Tuscan. His death had spurred this whole undercover operation. If that meant we had to play dirty along to bag the bad guys, then that was what we'd have to do. I didn't have to like it; I just had to do it.

I could tell Starsky really loved this gig, too, the way he was hamming it up. Ramón, the Argentinean Romeo, was good for a dance and good at teasing the ladies. He even wore the shoes I bought him for our undercover pimping case, the same shoes he swore he hated and wanted to throw out as soon as he could. He was giving me a run for my money, too, pinching me in the middle of the studio like he did. Ginger was right; he was a _naughty_ boy. That's what Starsky told me she had said when we met for lunch, before verbally seducing me over a hot dog. 'Can I have a _bite_?' takes on a whole different connotation when you have Starsky's teasing gaze behind it. He was playing with me on purpose; I had to play right back.

I insisted on responding to a silent alarm going off at a nearby grocery store. It was a nice diversion before we met up with Ms. Tuscan, the dead man's sister. She was still distraught over the fact that he had become a victim, but could tell us nothing new about the case. We already knew the basics, that her brother was married, had an affair with my dance instructor, Marsha, and turned up dead shortly after. What we needed to do was catch them in the act and take down the whole business.

Dobey came in when we were finishing up and said that my cover had been checked out. That meant the bait had been taken and I was the next pigeon on the list for the lovely Ms. Marsha.

Starsky drove me back to my place so I could get ready for the party that evening at the dancing school. He was expected to be at the studio to help set up, so I knew this would be our only time to talk. Tonight I would have to prove how good an actor I could be with Marsha.

"I don't wanna sleep with her, Starsky," I admitted, looking out the window.

"You'll do what you gotta do," he advised me.

I looked over at my partner, who was staring straight ahead and not showing any emotion regarding what I might have to do later. "Don't you care that I'm gonna have to sleep with somebody just so we can take down an extortion ring?"

We pulled up to a stoplight and he turned to me, stone-faced. "It's business, Hutch. You have a job to do; so do it. Charlie McCabe is not you; he's just a character you're playing."

"He may be a character, but it's _my_ body he's using."

The light turned green, so Starsky turned his attention back to the road. "You gotta sleep with her, Hutch. It's the only way."

"You know it's not gonna be her I'm thinking about," I admitted quietly, staring out the window.

That night, at Ginger's soiree, I hit on Marsha enough to draw her interest, and that of the boys pulling her strings. I fell all over her, begging her to let me show her the town. When I dragged her to Huggy's Mousehill Downs and flashed enough cash to choke a mule, her eyes lit up and her motor started running. She invited me back to her place.

I needed a whole lot more courage than the two fingers of bourbon she offered. I even asked myself, out loud, "What'd you get yourself into, Hutchinson?" I had to convince myself that I was playing a part, being a good actor, but the truth was I was selling myself for the good of the force. But, I had to do it; so I played the best role of my career. I had sex with someone I could never love, while thinking about the only one I _could_ love.

When I stumbled into the station the next morning, I could tell I looked about as bad as I felt. Starsky wouldn't really talk to me; wouldn't break character. He was Ramón, the Latin Lover, and I was Hutch, the Cheating Husband. When Dobey called us in to join Ms. Tuscan, it was almost a pleasure. At least someone would talk to me, acknowledge me. I knew I was playing it up, but when Dobey questioned me, I had to say something.

"You think they taped you last night?" Dobey asked.

"Captain, if they didn't, they should've," I sighed, looking at Starsky. He was not at all pleased, and even seemed jealous. Well, at least I got some kind of response out of him.

He begged off after the meeting, saying he had to get back to Ginger's studio. I hung around the station, trying to get some of the paperwork finished to take my mind off Starsky and Marsha and the whole mess. When I showed up at the dance studio for my appointment with Marsha, right on time and right in character, she sprang the trap. I was taken to a back room and they played some of the tape that had recorded my loss of virtue. And do you know the only thought that was running through my mind that whole time? Not what this meant to the case. No. The only thing I could think about was 'I hope Starsky never has to hear this,' the what-ifs of Starsky hearing me pretending to enjoy myself with Marsha.

I agreed to pay $30,000 to cover up the affair so my 'wife' would never find out. It was wasted money, even if it could have covered up the whole mess. The one person I didn't want to learn about the indiscretion was the one person who had forced me into it. Irony is a terrible sword. The money drop was set for two o'clock at Pier 17, supposedly where my personal freighter was berthed. If I had a freighter, I couldn't think of a better place to have her berthed. Too bad that was another part of the lie I had created. We arranged for Dobey to meet us out at the park to get the money together. Starsky's constant questioning of whether they had played the tape for me was met with my tight-lipped 'yes.' He finally gave up trying to get anything else out of me when I would only persist with one-word answers.

I wasn't good company for Starsky; he didn't push me to reveal anymore than I wanted to. I went over the information for the drop-off with Dobey and Starsky, but didn't say anything further about the tape. It was like salt in the wound just thinking about it. As long as that tape existed, there would always be a record of what I had done in the name of justice--I had sold myself and pretended to love another person instead of the one I wanted.

The drop off turned into an ambush. A good shot, a good scare, a quick dash after the escaping pair, but we got through it just fine. But even when it was all over, when the blackmail ring had been busted, and Ms. Tuscan rescued, and we no longer had to pretend to be Ramón or Charlie anymore, that tape still weighed heavily on my mind. Even when Starsky held me in his arms in Dobey's office, teaching me to tango, and dipping me like a good dance partner, the tape was between us. And when he leaned in and kissed me, quickly and deeply, to remind me that he was still around, I knew that the tape was bound to destroy everything.

We were only half an hour into writing the reports before the phone rang. I answered automatically, still trying to focus on the papers in front of me.

"Hutchinson."

"Ken?" a feminine voice said.

"Abby?" I asked, my attention slipping away from the reports and focusing on the voice from my past.

"Yes, it's me." Her voice sounded hollow, alone.

"It's been a long time." I tried to sound unshaken. "I didn't expect to hear from you."

I looked up at Starsky. He was pretending to work, but not doing a good job of it. Finally, he pushed back from the desk and mimed that he was going to go get something to eat from the cafeteria. My eyes followed him out the door before my mind rejoined the conversation on the phone.

"I just got back in town. I went to visit my brother, you remember? He asked about you, wanted to know how you were."

"Oh, oh I'm fine. Just fine. And you?"

Her breath caught before she answered. "I'm all right."

"Abby," I said, trying to soothe her, "you sure you're okay? All I got was that letter last month and...You're not in trouble or anything, are you?"

"Yes...no... I don't know. I wanted to see you again, talk to you, but I wasn't sure if you would want to."

"Of course I would, Abby," I half-teased, smiling. "I've always got time for you, you know that."

She seemed to relax then. "I've missed you. Missed us."

"I've missed you, too," I answered truthfully. "Are you in town for good?"

"Yeah, yeah, I am."

"Good, then you wouldn't mind if I took you out to dinner this week then?"

"I wouldn't mind at all," she laughed.

"Glad to hear it. How's Thursday sound?"

"Thursday's fine. Pick me up at seven?"

"Same place?" I asked.

"Same place."

"I'll see you then, Abby."

"See you, Ken."

I hung up the phone, and felt happy. Even if I had no desire to rekindle our relationship, it would be nice to see Abby again. She had been a wonderful part of my life and a good friend. Smiling, I picked up the files again. The day was getting better and better. It would get a whole lot better if Starsky would hurry up and get back from the cafeteria. Funny how he always seemed to slip out right when typing was required. I shook my head as I put the report into the typewriter and tried to finish up another page before he got back. Instead, I finished four before he rejoined me at our desk, looking a little shaken.

"What's wrong?" I asked, pulling the paper from the typewriter. "They run out of chicken again?"

"Huh?" He looked at me, confused, before realization hit. "Oh, right. Um, no, they didn't run out." He turned his gaze downward, touching the reports spread out in front of him. "It's nothing." He glanced up at me. "Sorry it took me so long."

"No problem," I said. "It's okay."

With that, we went back to the reports. His surprise seemed to disappear, so I didn't ask. By the time we ended up finishing, though, it was dark and we were ready to get home. Dumping the typed pages on Dobey's desk, we headed out to the car and over to my place. After dinner, Starsky was doing his best to focus all my attention on him.

"It's too bad Ramón had to go back into the closet," he teased, dancing around the living room. "I was kinda enjoying him."

"Yeah, well I wish Charlie would go away so easily," I responded, sinking onto the couch.

"I don't know." He smiled, sitting down beside me. "I really liked the hayseed act you had going. Gee, golly whiz, and all that."

"I'm sure Marsha liked it a lot, too." I looked over at him, wishing it could stay like this forever. "Starsk, that tape..."

"Is evidence in a case that's sealed up tight, so forget about it." He brushed me off, rising to retreat from my questions. He headed towards one of my newest plant acquisitions. "Hey, that new one looks really good, Hutch. It's supposed to flower later on, right?"

"Starsky," I called, pulling at his arm so he couldn't leave the conversation too quickly. He turned around, trying not to look into my eyes.

"Starsky, you don't have to listen to it for the report." He still wouldn't look at me, so I tilted his chin up to meet my gaze. It was then I knew that my requests to avoid the tape were pointless.

"You...you've already heard it, haven't you?" I faltered, dropping my hand from his face. "When?"

"When you were talking to Abby," he sadly responded, sounding broken.

"I thought you were going to eat?" I questioned, backing away.

"I was," he said, turning back towards the plant. "But I needed to go to Evidence to give Danny that money I owed him. The tape was still in the machine. We were talking and he accidentally hit play when he was shifting around some things. He turned it off fast; didn't even know what it was, but I did. Last time I heard you moan like that, I was at least in the room."

"Starsky, you know I didn't want to do that. I had to force myself to do it, to separate myself from it all. It wasn't me, it was Charlie."

"Just business, huh?" he asked bitterly. "That wasn't Charlie McCabe I heard moaning and laughing on that tape, it was you." He pushed past me and went towards the bedroom.

I followed him. "You know I didn't want to sleep with her. You told me to do my job and that's what I did!"

"And what a good job you did, too." He stopped, running his hand along the doorframe. Turning towards me again, he admitted, "I'm trying to pretend that it's all in a day's work when all I can think of is that you're sleeping with someone else. I can't work like this...we can't work like this."

"What...what are you saying?" I tensed up.

"I'm saying.... I'm saying I need to work out whether I can separate myself enough to love you at night and just be your friend during the day. And honestly, I don't think I can."

"Starsk..." I reached my hand out, but he flinched away, trying to escape. He walked into the living room.

"I'm saying, I have to see if I can chuck it all in because trying to work the middle is killing me. I can't love you and then send you off to have sex with other people. I can't expect you to do the same thing when you see me walking out the door with some girl I pick up. You always wanted all or nothing and I don't know which side I'm on anymore."

We were tearing ourselves apart. In public we were supposed to be friends and partners, but in private we were trying to be lovers without letting the outside world affect us. It wasn't working and we were being forced to back off and re-evaluate what that meant. And what do I do when one of my lovers backs off? I go running to the other.

"I'm sorry Hutch," Starsky apologized, heading closer to the door. "I just can't do this tonight. I need time, we both need time."

"How much time do we need?" My voice was tinged with frustration.

Starsky looked at me. "Until I know which side I'm on." He shook his head. "I'm really sorry, Hutch."

And then he was gone. Not really surprising, but every time he ran away it hurt even more. Once again, it was all up to him. Whatever path our relationship took, our futures rested on his ability to choose a side. I just wanted him to be on my side.

We worked like normal, not venturing into what lay beneath. We had another beating case that we helped out on. This time it was a forty-eight year old pimp named Billy Chartreuse. It was starting to look like a pattern, but two cases didn't make a serial killing. It was just another ugly fact about life on the streets. During the day I'd face all the filth that littered the alleyways, and during the night I'd go to Abby and try to forget it all. Except, I couldn't forget what was really bothering me, who was once again absent from my bed. I tried to love Abby without regret, but I couldn't really move on in our relationship. I owed Abby enough to try, though. She deserved that. So that's why we agreed to go to the park. Abby packed up a nice lunch for us to carry and we were going to meet Starsky and his new girlfriend Andrea for a double date.

It was cordial, it was relaxing, and it was almost perfect. The sun felt wonderful to me and I must have dozed off because I woke up to Abby tickling my nose with a flower. Our companions had taken their leave, so we were alone. I tackled her, smiling at her beauty and asking myself how I could be so lucky to have a woman love me like she did. Kissing her, teasing her, felt good and felt right somehow. But our plan of a quiet escape back to my place was, of course, interrupted by work. Andrea ran up yelling that we had a 1040. Work always intruded at the most inopportune times. I gave Abby a quick kiss before going to investigate.

Starsky stood by the car and even before he said it I knew we'd have to go in early. Dobey had called us to start our night shift a whole lot sooner than we'd planned. There had been another beating, this time a seventeen-year-old kid. I jogged back to our picnic and helped Abby pack up the food so I could drop her off at her place. She always seemed to understand when duty called, another thing that made her extra special. I promised that I would call her the next day and we'd do something together. After that was done, I drove over to the station to meet Starsky.

Three bodies in thirty days, all killed the same way with a beating that had ended their lives.

This time the victim was Jimmy Shannon, a petty thief, which we found out when we got to the morgue. Going through his effects yielded a 1964 JFK half-dollar. I remember collecting those when I was younger. Jimmy didn't have a wallet on him, but the key from the Hotel Brennan made it clear who he had been working for.

Artie Solkin, a man responsible for the ruination of too many kids. That parasite was high on my list of people I never wanted to associate with, but we had to do it.

We headed down to the locker room so we could change into something 'more fitting for duty,' as Dobey suggested. I guess Artie wouldn't find us too threatening in a jogging suit and shorts. I was almost finished buttoning up my shirt before Starsky realized which one it was.

"Hutch? What're you wearing that for?" He seemed hurt, like I was testing him or something.

"Umm, because it's my shirt?" I ventured, not quite getting it.

"Yeah, but why that one?" He pointed to the blue shirt like it would jump out and attack at any minute.

"Because it's my shirt," I repeated, buttoning up the remaining buttons. "It's the only one I've got here." I had stuffed it in there after our last foursome and never remembered to bring it back home.

"We could go by your place and get another one," he offered, concentrating on zipping up his jeans.

"Look!" I slammed the locker door, causing him to jump and glance up worriedly. "You're the one who wanted to take a break. You're the one who had to sort things, so stop acting like I'm testing you with every piece of clothing I put on! It's a shirt; don't make a big deal out of it!"

Starsky's lips set in a thin line; his was breathing deeply, as if trying to stem an outburst himself.

"We have to go check out Artie," I continued, letting my anger subside a little. "Can we just concentrate on that right now?"

Starsky let out a few breaths before answering. "All right, okay, you're right." He raised his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." I smiled a little, letting him know the crisis was over. "Now can we please go see Artie and get this over with?"

We took my car, since it was my turn. The guy at the front desk had known Jimmy Shannon by the name of Jingo. I didn't care what he used to be called, he was a dead kid now, and I wanted to find out how much Artie knew about the whole mess. We met Artie up in Shannon's room. I let some of my residual anger with Starsky seep into the situation, but Artie alone could get on my nerves. The man was scum, a slimy degenerate who used kids to get an edge, and then dropped them like used goods when they didn't serve his purpose anymore. He deserved to be talked down to, and a whole lot worse if he knew how Jimmy had been killed.

Going through Artie's file back at the station got me even angrier. I didn't have to hear a list of his past crimes to know he was worthless. But Dobey wasn't convinced there was a connection between Jimmy and the other two victims, the laundry boy and the pimp Billy Chartreuse, much less a connection between them and Artie. Well, I was sure of it; I just had to find a way to prove it. But it wasn't gonna get done tonight. I begged off to go home. I knew Starsky was trying to calm me down when he offered to go out for a burger, but I wasn't in the mood to talk, so I told him that I'd see him in the morning. All I wanted to do was go home, get drunk, and forget that someone like Artie Solkin even existed.

I was headed in that direction when I got back to my apartment. I cast off the trappings of the day and opened the fridge for my first beer of the night. A man doesn't expect to find a dead animal in his refrigerator, especially not a rat. To say I was disgusted would be an understatement. I shut the door and started searching around for any sign of entry. Finding none in my quick scan, I sat down to call Starsky and get him to come over. That was the plan, anyway. The brick through my window upped the ante a whole lot. I chased after the suspects, but they sped away before I could get a fix on them, much less a shot. Heading back upstairs, I made the call.

Starsky came over, and tried to make jokes to relieve the tension. It wasn't in the mood to make light of the situation, especially not after the day I'd had, so I just sent him over to the icebox to get a beer for himself. He sobered up fast when he saw the dead rat. He slammed the door quickly.

"Either your eating habits have drastically changed or you've got some very sick people mad at you," he said, coming over to where I sat.

"You know the one thing that bothers me?"

"You're out of ketchup?" he teased.

I had to laugh at that. "Whoever put the rat in my icebox has a way through my front door."

"Any ideas?"

"Not a clue," I admitted.

"Whaddya wanna do?" he asked, sitting down on the sofa to face me.

"I wanna wake up and have this all disappear," I sighed.

"We can go in early tomorrow and look over some files, see what turns up," he offered. "Maybe we'll get lucky and find out who's behind this before you end up with something worse than a brick and a dead rodent."

"Sounds good," I agreed, absently rubbing my chest. "Just wish I could be sure he's not gonna come back and try again."

"Want me to stay the night?" he offered, leaning closer.

I looked at him, taking in his ragged state. He had raced over here with little concern to his own need for sleep. All I had to do was call and say I needed help and he was there. If he stayed, I knew he wouldn't get much rest standing guard.

"Nah, go on home." I smiled, assuring him that I would be okay.

He nodded, standing up to leave. "You call me if anything comes up, okay?"

"Sure." He moved towards the door. "Hey!"

"Yeah?" he asked, turning back.

"Can you take the rat with you?"

His face scrunched up. "Seriously?"

"Please?"

He shuddered, but walked to the kitchen. "You know," he said before opening the refrigerator. "You're gonna owe me for this." Opening the door, he balked. "So very, very much."

And he did take care of it, just liked I asked.

When the rat and Starsky had left, I retreated to the bedroom. I'd worry about cleaning up the mess from the brick and taking a shower tomorrow. Right now, all I wanted to do was forget everything that had happened. Dead rats, dead kids, dead ends. Some days it didn't pay to be a cop.

~~~

Starsky did like he promised and picked me up early for our shift so we could go through some files and hope to get some ideas as to who was after me. He didn't look so hot, but when I questioned his disheveled state, he brushed me off saying he hadn't gotten a good night's rest. He'd either gotten drunk or laid, but he didn't look like there had been a lady involved, so I was guessing the former.

We hadn't gotten through a quarter of the files before Dobey sent us to check out another beating victim. Except, this time, the guy had managed to survive. Down at Midtown Memorial Hospital, we found Lloyd Eckworth with both his legs broken and an itch to get out of the place. Dobey had said he was the owner of the Homerun Nightclub, but Starsky knew him better as a baseball player who had played for the Yankees and White Sox during Starsky's youth.

The statement Eckworth gave was cut and dried, but seemed to be missing something vital. I couldn't see how we could get a lead on just that, but Starsky knew better. He drew Eckworth out, talking about his past baseball career and homeruns while throwing in questions about the case. We found out that the guy who attacked him had weird eyes that were totally without emotion, so we were probably looking for a killer that wasn't working for revenge so much as for money.

I left Eckworth our number in case he remembered anything else, but I wasn't expecting much.

As we were leaving the hospital after questioning Eckworth, I discovered a flat tire on my car. I was ragging Starsky about his car, griping about my own and my bad luck with the flat retread, when everything went wrong. One minute I was opening the trunk to get out the spare and the next moment, there was an explosion, and I found myself crouched on the ground in pain, holding my seared hand and biting back tears. Starsky was there, holding me and saying everything would be okay, but how could it? My hand was blackened, burned badly, hurting worse than any bullet ever had.

Starsky took care of me, soothing me back inside the hospital. He never left my side through the whole ordeal. The doctor worked around him, but I was glad Starsky was there. If I could focus on him, if I could concentrate on something steady, then the pain didn't seem so bad.

Back from the hospital, with my hand wrapped up like a mummy's, we had to lay out the scene for Dobey. By now, the anesthetic on my hand had worn off and it was throbbing. I was trying to get the bottle of pain pills opened, trying to get Starsky to concentrate on getting me a glass of water, while half-listening to Dobey rant at us about having "private parties." This wasn't a private party, this was us trying to deal with a difficult case. Then again, if the condition of my hand was any indication, maybe it was already too late.

There wasn't any time to deal with my own crisis before we had to go cope with Artie again. Yeah, that's just what I needed today, another meeting with charming Artie, but Eckworth finally did remember something vital. The bum who had set him up for his attacker had been wearing two-tone shoes--Artie's two-tone shoes. That piece of scum was in on the hits, just like I'd thought. We brought him down to the station for a line-up, but my hopes of nailing him got thrown out the window when Eckworth couldn't, or wouldn't, identify him.

"He knows Artie did it," I said to Starsky, leaning back in my chair. The suspects and the witnesses had all left; we were the only ones in the room.

"Yeah, but as long as he's not talking, we've got nothing," Starsky pointed out, leaning back in his own chair.

"So what're we supposed to do? Just let him get away?"

"No, just gotta find another way to nail him," he suggested. "Huggy's probably dug up something by now on the victims."

"Maybe," I said, sounding unconvinced. "Maybe we're just chasing our tails again."

"Don't know 'til we hear what he's got to say." Starsky got up, urging me to do the same. "Come on, Abby's gonna meet us for lunch, and she made me promise that you'd eat a good meal after this crazy morning."

"Abby's meeting us there?" I asked, rising from my own chair. I was confused until I remembered that Starsky had told me the same thing at the hospital. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. I probably won't be good company right now, though."

"Good or bad, you gotta eat," he teased, walking out the door.

I really wasn't the best of company, though. Starsky wouldn't eat anything, still put off by the whole rat incident, so Abby and I ate alone. However, I wasn't listening to half of what Abby was saying, either. She had made dinner plans, and had arranged our whole night. Huggy was talking to Starsky, but I was more focused on using Huggy's information to get Artie than I was about what Abby was planning for the menu. I promised her that I'd be at dinner, just like she wanted, and that seemed to quiet her for the moment.

I probably didn't make her very happy running out in the middle of lunch to go see Billy Ryan, who used to be a member of Artie's young band of thieves. If anyone knew what Artie was dealing with lately, it would be Billy. He was working over at the restaurant across town and didn't seem happy to see us. A little pushing got him to open up about Artie's latest pet project, a kid they called "The Spook." His name was Tommy and he didn't sound very sane. Billy said he'd even boasted about killing his family out west; the way it sounded we didn't doubt it might be true.

RandI confirmed the story on Tommy. He had an APB out on him in Indiana for killing his entire family. That was enough to send us back to Artie. I was determined to rough him up if I had to, to get the full scoop on Tommy. That was the plan, but that wasn't where we ended up. Four words from Dobey's mouth was all it took for us to go racing over to my place, instead.

"Hutch, someone's hurt Abby."

The whole way over I kept running through everything in my mind. The phone had been busy every time I'd tried to call her that afternoon. I'd assumed she was talking to her friends. Maybe if I'd paid more attention to her at lunch, had really listened, she wouldn't be in this situation. Maybe if I had dropped by and checked on her, she would've been safe. Maybe I could have stopped whatever evil had invaded my life this time.

It was like a nightmare, like I was watching someone else go through the motions, when I found Abby laying on the floor, severely beaten. She hadn't just been assaulted, she'd almost been raped. She kept apologizing over and over again for something that I knew was really my fault. I should've known better than to let her stay at my place alone. I should've known better than to put her in harm's way like. I should've known better than to sacrifice her safety just so I could work to make one more bust, go talk to one more hood, track down one more piece of information. I should've known better, but my neglect still made her pay for it all.

And the JFK half-dollar we found clutched in her hand focused all my anger on the one man who had to be responsible: Artie Solkin. He was the evil who had invaded my life again and again to cause me pain. Now, I was going to cause him pain. I would make him pay; I would make him suffer. And I would bring down his vicious lackey, Tommy, too.

But what can you do when the man who done all this was suffering as much as you were? Tommy was a victim, just like me, a pawn in the game Artie created. I couldn't make Tommy pay because he was already doing it, living in a world of torment and wanting nothing more than to please a man who'd used him. Artie was going down, going to suffer himself for a long time, but what would happen to Tommy? How can you make someone pay who wasn't aware of how wrong he had been, of how much pain he had caused in the first place?

And that was why, for all the torment I felt, I couldn't fault Abby for the choice she made. She finally left me to go back home, to retreat to a world where she could be safe. A world that didn't have me in it. I had caused her so much enough suffering; I couldn't find one reason for her to stay. I asked her what was I supposed to do; how was I supposed to live, knowing that I was the cause of it all, but she didn't answer. She just got in her brother's car and left me alone again.

But Starsky was there. He stood beside me and didn't leave. He'd known she was going to leave. Abby had told him about it the night before. There was no way he could he warn me ahead of time. He just waited until she was ready to tell me herself, and then he was there to pick up the pieces, just like always. Like he said, it didn't mean that she didn't love me; it just meant that she couldn't live with me. A lot of women in my life, women that I had thought I could love forever, just couldn't live with me. But through it all, after each of them had left me alone and broken, Starsky was still there to pick me up and put me back together again.

~~~

Thanksgiving was a quick affair. We pretty much skipped it except for dinner at Huggy's. We treated it like any other day because I wasn't feeling very thankful. Starsky understood and didn't push. Instead, he let me focus my energies on something positive, like Lisa's birthday.

Lisa was the daughter of a cop we had been friends with. He'd been killed a few months before, and his wife and daughter were valiantly struggling on. We tried to stay in touch with them as much as we could. The tragedy of Lisa's dad's death was compounded by the fact that she was mentally deficient. She'd been the apple of her father's eye, though, but now she and her mom no longer had his strength to lean on. We tried to be there for them whenever possible.

She'd be nineteen in a day or so. We had to get a present for her birthday party, so Starsky suggested we go to his old neighborhood and check out Uncle Elmo's toy store. But Starsky hadn't been to Uncle Elmo's in a long time; we spent most of our day just trying to track down its location. The search had to be put off, though, when we were called to a 211 in progress over at a nearby laundromat. How much money can you really get from a coin laundry anyway?

I wanted to go in the front like a customer, so I needed a cover. That's why Starsky was forced to strip down in public, cursing my idea the whole time. It didn't improve his mood any when I discovered Uncle Elmo's new endeavor was right across the street, but now the toys he sold were adult toys. At least we managed to take down the robbers quick and easy. And when we were done, Starsky had freshly cleaned and dried clothes to show off.

Giving up on Uncle Elmo's, we went to a discount toy store near the station. As soon as we passed the trains, though, Starsky abandoned me, so I had to find Lisa's present on my own. There was a nice doll back behind the train display, so that's what I settled on. Lisa would love it; the doll had a nice pink dress and shiny blond hair; just like she did. We took it back to the station to wrap, hoping we'd get all the reports on the robbery cleared up before the party. Dobey put his present to Lisa in with our own. His gift was a big stuffed panda. I always knew the captain was a big softie.

A call came in while I was in Dobey's office, but Starsky passed along the news. Lisa had been beaten and raped on her way to the library. It was the same trip she'd made every day, but this time she'd been unlucky. The happy little girl that never wanted anything more than to play and love had been marred by the ugliness of the streets. The streets would eventually hurt everyone, even someone as innocent as Lisa. And we couldn't do a damned thing to prevent it. Everyday we were sent out on the streets, told to save as many as we could. But the people we couldn't save were beginning to outnumber the ones we could. These things happened in our own back yards and came in right through our front doors. I was beginning to wonder what the point was. Honestly, half the days, I went out there and my only concern was to keep Starsky alive. Above that, saving everyone wasn't going to be easy.

We asked that the reporting officers send over the witness, a bus driver from the same run Lisa took daily. He immediately ID'ed Robert Loomis as one of the suspects, but he wasn't so sure about the other guy. We brought out mug books on some of the men who fit the general description he gave, and he was finally able to point out John Manning as the second suspect. I put out an APB on them, hoping we could have them brought in before Lisa's birthday party that night. Her mom had called and asked us to pick them up at the hospital so that Lisa could still have her party, only with just the four of us, instead of all of Lisa's friends.

We went over to my place and got cleaned up. After we changed clothes and looked presentable enough for a nice, quiet evening with Lisa, we headed over to the hospital. Lisa was so scared, afraid to go back into a world that had done this to her. And I couldn't tell her that it wouldn't happen again. Lies, lies to get through the day and survive into the night, that's what I was working with. I wanted to keep her safe and show her that there was still good in the world. She didn't deserve any of this.

The ride back from the hospital with Lisa and her mom was quiet; Lisa just stared out the window for the whole ride. Even Starsky's enthusiasm for her party didn't make her want to talk.

When we got to the house, Lisa's mom asked Starsky to help her put up decorations. I thought Lisa wouldn't talk to me either, but as soon as we were alone she asked me why those men had hurt her. How do you tell a child that it wasn't her fault and make her believe you? She wasn't convinced by anything I said, but she quieted down as I led her into the house.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the decorations and the presents. I thought the pain was gone for a while, but one look at the cake's inscription sent her over the edge. In our eyes, she was still a child, but she was trapped in a grown body. She destroyed the cake, screaming that she didn't want to be a grown up, and grabbed a pair of scissors as she made her escape. We had to chase her up the stairs, terrified of what she might do with those scissors behind her locked bedroom door. It was a heart-breaking sight when I managed to bust through the door. She was sitting on her bed, covered in cake remnants and melting icing, cutting off her beautiful long hair, saying she didn't want to be grown up or beautiful anymore. I held her, trying to take away some of the heartache she had to be feeling, but nothing would be all right until we caught the men who did it.

We left Lisa with her mother and went to see Huggy. We were determined to get these creeps, to make them pay for what they had done to such an innocent girl. Huggy assured us that the streets were with us, too. No one wanted to see them get away with the sick crime they'd committed. He even had a tip about where they were hiding, over in an abandoned building on Sixth street.

When we got on the scene, it took a shootout with Loomis to get him scared enough to admit where his accomplice Manning was. My blood ran cold when Loomis told us Manning was going to _kill_ Lisa, to make sure she couldn't identify him.

It was up to us to get back to her in time. We cuffed Loomis to a pipe, leaving him for the uniforms to take care of. The most important thing now was to get to Lisa before Manning did.

We found him in the house, about to attack Lisa again. We didn't hold back at all, coming in like storm troopers, treating him as badly as we could while taking him down. I tried to comfort Lisa while Starsky put on the finishing touches, but she'd now been attacked a second time, and this time in her own home. She would never be safe if those two remained on the streets; even her house wasn't safe anymore now that they knew where she lived. She was just a scared kid, wondering what she did to deserve this.

The hearing was rushed because of the situation with Lisa. Sims, an assistant district attorney handling the case, wanted it resolved as fast as possible so he could move on to other, more politically advantageous, cases. At the pre-trial hearing, Sims wasn't interested in seeing justice served. He was more concerned with making sure he wouldn't look bad if this case went to a jury trial. He deliberately confused Lisa, asking her questions that implied that she might have brought the whole situation onto herself. That man cared nothing for the fact that he was making a rape victim, a retarded child, believe that it was _her_ fault that bad men had hurt her.

Lisa broke down and started calling for her mama. Before we could get her out of the courtroom, Sims talked about her as mentally deficient, that she only had the mind of a ten-year-old. Lisa was mentally challenged, but she wasn't deaf. His cold comments sent her running out of the courtroom, leaving us to follow in a panic.

It's amazing how a difficult situation can make you realize things about yourself. While watching Starsky try to calm Lisa down by telling her stories about his own childhood and his imaginary Doodle Town, it hit me that I was trying to take all this away from him. He wanted kids; he wanted to be a father; but all I wanted was him. Didn't he deserve to be someone's dad? Would my love ever come close to filling the void that his not having children might create? Watching him be so gentle, so caring with Lisa, I couldn't have loved him more. And I couldn't fathom how I could make myself love him less, but wasn't that really what I needed to do?

Well, that was a thought better left buried for now. We had more important things to concentrate on, like bringing in the two punks who had been allowed to walk out of the courtroom just because Sims didn't feel like that this case was worth a jury trial.

The captain knew we wouldn't let this slide and he wasn't about to, either. He told us to bring that scum in on any charge we could make stick; as long as they were walking around free, Lisa would be in danger. Huggy informed Starsky that Sam the Greek, a known fence, had offered to meet Manning and Loomis to handle some goods for them. The two hoods were desperate for cash to pay back a loan shark, so we could be pretty confident they'd make the meet. But as fast as we processed them into the joint, that's as fast as they got right back out. The system works most of the time, but sometimes it fails miserably.

Then, the next day, while we were looking for another angle to nail our favorite pair on, Manning ended up in the hospital, brutalized within an inch of his life, claiming that _we_ did it. Immediately afterwards, Sims threw Lisa's case out of court. There was no way we were about to let that a rapist get away, not a case as solid as this one. So we did the only thing we could; we went straight to the DA. Sims didn't like getting called onto the carpet by his boss, but after listening to our complaints, he scheduled another hearing for that afternoon.

We delivered the paperwork to the DA and called the witness back in. We brought Lisa and her mother to the courthouse at two o'clock, like the DA wanted, and waited outside for them. We waited, and paced, and steamed, and waited, and walked, and waited some more.

After an hour, our best witness, the bus driver, finally came out, but he didn't feel that he'd done any good. He had, though, they all had, because the DA ruled that the case would go to trial. That meant the charges were back on Loomis and Manning. We went after them like the sacks of rotten humanity they were, those two and their loan shark boss, too. The whole lot of them got thrown in jail and Lisa was finally safe once again.

Starsky decided she had missed too much of her birthday, so we made it up to her by bringing over a puppy. What little girl didn't want a pet? And watching him, down on the floor with her, playing with Lisa's puppy and his own train set, I had to wonder what man didn't want a little girl just like her? Starsky was a child himself when dealing with little ones. He brought the same wonderment and enthusiasm to life as they did. He deserved to pass that on to his own children some day.

~~~

The way Lisa's case turned out, that was one for the good guys. But sometimes the good guys turn into bad guys. Or, they get tarnished, cut corners on the way to the final outcome. Cops burn out, get tired, fall from their hero status.

Captain "Iron Mike" Ferguson was one of those heroes.

We were sure he was on the take when we spotted him at a restaurant with underworld figure Matt Coyle. No one who was any good hung out willingly with Matt Coyle. But before we could present our suspicions to Dobey, Mike asked Dobey to borrow us for a case of his. It was a clean set-up, nothing really to worry about he said, but when you're worried that the guy watching your back is dirty, nothing can put your mind at ease. We had to find out the truth. Had Ferguson, one cop we thought could never be bought, finally given in to the temptation of quick cash? We asked Huggy to find out as much as he could, and headed back home.

But Huggy turned up absolutely nothing. He said that word on the streets was that Mike couldn't be bought. Then, in the next breath, he told us that Ferguson was around the corner meeting with Coyle again. We should have left well enough alone, but our sense of right and wrong was so clear-cut that we couldn't let a dirty cop slide. Ferguson was with Coyle, but every one of his cases that we'd checked into was airtight. Ferguson had even arrested Skinny Momo, Coyle's former right hand man. It didn't make any sense.

Pretty soon our investigations back-fired when Mike found out we'd been checking up on him. He threw the case he'd borrowed us for back at us, saying he'd gotten a line on the suspects from the department store robbery. Starsky was so sure Ferguson was dirty, despite all the other indications of his innocence, that Starsky refused to ride in the same car with him. We followed Ferguson to the scene in the Torino. It was a good opportunity for us to talk.

"He's gonna get us killed," Starsky said as he jerked the car into drive.

"_You're_ gonna get us killed," I insisted. "Take it easy."

"We're gonna be right in the middle of a killing and the department will think it was an accident," he continued, ignoring me.

"You do realize how insane that sounds, right? This is Iron Mike we're talking about."

"This is a dirty cop we're talking about." Starsky looked over at me. "He's doing something illegal with Coyle; we just haven't found out what it is, yet."

"His case files are clean," I reminded him.

"Case files can leave things out," he warned before looking back towards the road. "Nothing's ever the whole truth, even when it's in black and white."

"We don't know what he's up to yet, Starsk. Don't go making up conspiracy theories until we do."

"Yeah, well, I just want this case to be done so we don't have to be looking behind us, worried about what he's gonna do," he said, pulling up to the scene. Mike was standing there waiting for us.

It was eerie how Starsky had called it. We _were_ in the middle of a killing. But we weren't the cops who'd been hit. We were stunned when Mike was gut-shot by one of the robbers, who'd had a hidden weapon on him. I returned fire, and took him out, but it was too late to do Mike any good.

When Mike, knowing he was facing his own death, handed over his black book, all I wanted to do was give it back. He thought he was doing us a favor before he died--giving two honest, hard-working cops a break in the fight against the relentless crime of the streets. What Ferguson really did was throw us into the middle of a moral war. Who decides who the worst criminal is, which lawbreaker deserves to be left on the streets. All the big cases that Iron Mike had been working on, every one of them was laid out in that black book, with names and dates and locations. And right there, prominently displayed on the last page, was his most important contact, the direct phone line to Matt Coyle's private office.

Starsky and I arranged a meeting with Coyle after calling that number. Coyle himself told us that Ferguson had been on the take, but not in way we'd thought. Mike had been fed information directly from Coyle, and in return, he looked the other way while Coyle ran his own "business." Everything that Mike had built his reputation on in the last few years was all due to Coyle.

Coyle wanted us to make the same deal. He even offered us a free "arrest," giving us information on a notorious diamond heist, just to see how easy we could have it. And it was good info indeed. Our bust was a direct hit on a suspect we hadn't been able to nail before. Dobey was proud. We'd done a good job, but we felt just as dirty as Coyle himself.

What was more surprising was that Dobey refused to listen to what we were telling him. Mike had been his best friend, and a good cop for many years. Dobey didn't want to tarnish his memory by accepting the reality that he'd been on the take. He even admitted that sometimes it was best to let one person slide in order to get others off the streets. He told us we were too young and naïve to see the line between big fish and little fish. Maybe we were. Maybe we just weren't burnt out yet, or had lived through as much as Mike had. But we still believed it was wrong to let Coyle walk free when he was working a vicious protection racket, and importing drugs.

If we couldn't get Coyle with the help of Dobey, then we'd have to get him on our own. Momo, Coyle's former right-hand man, wouldn't believe us when we told him that Coyle had set him up for Mike to take down. He was too blind to see his boss was two-faced, but he did give us a lead. Johnny Lonigan had taken Momo's place when he was sent up, and Momo's remark about Johnny's wife told us that Coyle was more interested in Lonigan's family life than he should have been.

Huggy told us right where we needed to go to find Coyle. In apartment 6A, Johnny's wife, Laura, was playing house with Coyle at that very moment.

We had to be sure that Coyle would never know we were setting _him _up. For all he knew, we were in his pocket completely, just like Iron Mike. We told him we wanted our own sign of good faith. We wanted to bust Johnny Lonigan. After some resistance, he finally wrote down the address where we'd find Johnny. We grinned at each other when Coyle shut the apartment door behind us. He'd just signed away his future on the streets.

Johnny was one the bars Coyle hit up for protection money, and we caught him roughing up the owner when we went to take him down. At first, he refused to believe Coyle had set him up, even when we showed him Coyle's note. What finally got to him, though, was the fact that the man he'd trusted with his life was having an affair with his wife. That's when he told us how to take down Coyle, at a cocaine deal set for that same night.

We nailed him and his accomplices right in the middle of the deal. Coyle never even tried to run. But his parting warning comment cast a cold pall over me. Coyle's last bit of advice to us was that when he finally got out of jail, we'd be older and more weary. And then we'd be calling him.

Would we? Would we ever be in a position like Iron Mike had been?

Starsky didn't think so, and couldn't fathom how a man would venture into the gray areas like Mike had, but I could. I could see how years on the street would make you want a helping hand, just to make sure the good kept winning against the bad. Life was all about change, the ability to go with the flow and not be brought down by the details that worked against you. It was about remaining stable when the world around you changed.

I wanted to believe that we'd remain stable, no matter what was thrown at us. When the world changed, I needed assurance that we'd still be right in the middle of it. Mike didn't have someone to rely on, not like me. I could take comfort in the fact that I wouldn't be in the same spot as Mike was because I had Starsky. So, when I went out to find a Christmas present for Starsky, the idea of planting a tree in his honor sounded perfect. The symbolism of his presence remaining firm throughout the years, that's what I wanted to show him.

Starsky had been harassing me steadily about what I might be getting him for Christmas. I tried convincing him that I hadn't gotten him anything, but he knew me too well. But I was tired of his Christmas elf routine. He acted as if the Christmas season could negate all the bad things that happened the rest of the year.

Take the kid for example. We got called to a robbery in progress at a store around the corner from where we were currently patrolling. The owner had called it in on a little girl, a pre-teen kid. I tried to calmly settle the situation, and got a busted thumb for my trouble, thanks to the kid. She slammed the telephone booth shut on me, while telling me loudly to 'stick it in my ear.' Criminals are starting at an early age, apparently.

I handed the situation over to Starsky, who managed to get her out of the store and, after a brief chase, into the car.

The girl lived in the ghetto in an apartment with her father. He was out looking for work, she said, but a sweep of the apartment showed that they had more liquor in the house than food. This was no way for a kid to live, especially a little girl who had resorted to stealing to cover her own needs.

Starsky found her baseball glove, with the names "Molly" and "Pete" written on it. I mistakenly thought Pete might have been her boyfriend, but she quickly corrected me. No, both names were hers, but she preferred the name Pete. Her mother had died when she was a baby, and her father was trying to take care of her, but sometimes she ended up in foster care when he couldn't afford to keep her. No job, no kid.

Starsky kept trying to draw her out about her interests, friends, anything to get her talking and help us gauge the situation a little better. That was cut short, though, when a call came in for Pete. It was her dad's girlfriend, saying that her father had been hurt badly in a nearby alley.

We drove her there, but we were familiar with the area, so we didn't have much hope. The uniforms were cleaning up the scene by the time we got there. Tragically, Pete's dad was dead. I questioned the cops on site, but it was of little use. There were no witnesses; Pete's dad had two shots in the back. Pete was suddenly without either of her parents.

She was silent on the ride back to the station. I think she knew what was coming. We had to get child services involved. Starsky took her to the squadroom while I went in to talk to Perkowitz, the social worker from child services. A call to Pete's former foster parents, who might be willing to take her back, went unanswered. With nowhere else to go, she would have to be put in juvie for the holidays.

I don't like juvenile detention on good days, but over Christmas? A child deserved to be in a home for the holidays, not some detention center. I wanted her to come stay with me. It was a warm home and I was more than willing to take her in. Perkowitz wasn't so sure; she didn't think it would look right. What, that a cop was taking in an underage girl? Who cares what others thought? Pete needed to be with someone who could take care of her, if only for a little while, and the Williams family wasn't home to do that. I must've worn Perkowitz down because when we got back to the squadroom she let me have Pete, at least until the Williams family could be reached.

Starsky made a comment about my distaste for the holidays wearing down. No, it was my need to see a little girl be safe for once in her life.

The next morning, I was fixing breakfast when Perkowitz called. She finally reached the Williams family. They weren't on vacation after all, so we had to take Pete over to them. I'd listened to her crying herself to sleep last night, and now I had to tell her to prepare for another separation. This was just another blow.

I was still sad that Pete wouldn't be joining us for Christmas when Kiko, my Little Brother, and Starsky came over. My partner, the eternal kid, had decided my apartment wasn't decorated in the true spirit of Christmas, so he came trudging over with a fully decorated tree. It was just another attempt to get me to admit I had bought him a present. I wasn't going to play his game, no matter how hard he tried.

Changing the subject, I said we needed to take Pete over to pick up her stuff at her dad's place, so he dropped the badgering. In a way, I was glad she'd be out of that run down building. That was no place for a child to grow up. She may not like her foster parents, but they were better than nothing, right?

When we arrived at her room, we found the whole place had been trashed. Starsky saw one of the perps heading out the window, and went after him, but lost him in the chase. Pete hadn't gotten a good look at them either, so we were at a loss. Why would anyone ransack an apartment with almost nothing in it? We decided the faster we got her over to her foster parents, the safer she'd be.

After finally meeting Mrs. Williams, though, I wasn't so sure it was the right decision. Pete was already mad at me for not fighting to keep her, and even my explanation of why that wasn't possible didn't break her. She hated her foster parents, she'd rather stay with me, and that was all she was willing to hear. Mrs. Williams didn't seem all that bad, but she didn't seem all that focused on Pete, either. Starsky would say that it's my over-nurturing behavior kicking in. I'd say it's more like my dislike for the whole foster care system in general. Cattle, that's all children were in the system, plain cattle.

With that bitter taste in my mouth, I was all set to dive into the files to find out more about Pete's father. I couldn't lay the blame for getting shot on him, but we learned that he was involved in crimes that may have led to his death. He was part of a robbery involving diamonds that had never been recovered with two other hoods, possibly the same two that trashed his place. And if they thought Pete had those diamonds, then they'd be back no matter where we took her. Suddenly, leaving her with the Williams family seemed like a very bad idea.

We went to pick her up, but Mrs. Williams said she'd already gone out. She told us that Pete's dad's old minister had asked Pete to be in their mission Christmas pageant. The lady hadn't even ask the minister's name, she just let Pete go off with a stranger in a collar. What kind of woman does that?

I put Pete's name and description out on an APB and we started cruising in hopes that we'd track her down somewhere on the streets. The search was fruitless. I was about to suggest that we go back to the station and see if we could find any clues in the files as to where she might have gone, but the dispatcher beat me to it. Pete had turned up at my apartment, watching westerns with Kiko like nothing had happened. She was pretty laid back and non-committal about the diamonds, too. These men were trying to kill her and she was still putting on the tough guy act.

I only wanted her to be safe, not scared, but she was fighting me the whole way. I even tried to spring for a nice Christmas present, but she would rather be in military fatigues than a girly dress. Starsky and I dropped her off at Kiko's so she could get the pants hemmed by Kiko's mom, since they were a mile too big for her. I talked to Kiko's mom briefly before returning to the car.

Afterwards, Starsky and I went back to my place to deal with the case. The less she heard about her father's death and the threat on her life, the better.

"She's impossible," I sighed, closing the apartment door behind me.

"Why?" Starsky asked, sinking into the couch. "Just because she didn't want a dress?"

"No, because she thinks she's invincible," I said, picking up the watering can and walking towards the kitchen. "She's gonna get herself killed if she doesn't stop playing games with us."

"You got a real crush on her, don't you?" Starsky teased.

"No," I said, filling up the watering can. "I just want to see her happy for once in her life."

"You don't want to let her go, do you?" he asked, standing right next to me.

I hadn't heard him coming. I wasn't even aware he'd left the couch. The next thing I knew, his arms were around me and he was pressing me close.

I stiffened at his touch. "I don't want to see her hurt again."

"Why do you do this to yourself?" He turned me around so I was now facing him, the watering can left abandoned in the sink. "Why do you always go after people like her?"

"Because they need saving the most," I admitted. "Because I know I can make a difference to one little girl."

"Yeah, I guess you can." He smiled, looking into my eyes.

"I asked Kiko's mom if she would think about being Pete's foster parent," I blurted out.

Starsky pulled back a little. "What'd she say?"

"She hasn't said anything yet, but I think that if Kiko's all right with it then she'll do it. Maybe...if it works out with Pete...she might even be willing to adopt her. But that wouldn't be able to happen for awhile."

"You're gonna ask Perkowitz to push through a special favor on a kid you just met?"

"It's not like I'm trying to adopt her," I said, turning back to concentrate on the watering can. "Besides, Kiko needs a sister or brother."

"He has you," Starsky pointed out, moving back towards the table.

"Sometimes I'm not good enough."

I thought that Starsky was going to say something else, but just then the phone rang. He went to the living room and picked it up.

"Hello? Hey, Cap'n."

With Starsky tied up on the phone, I started watering my plants like I had planned. It soothed me to be able to take care of them, to talk to them and have them understand me when no one else could. I just wished that Starsky could understand me, too.

When I was almost done, Pete came over to show off her new clothes. I could tell she was really pleased with them. If only she would've _tried _a dress...

We were going to check out a lead with Huggy, though, so we told her to go back to Kiko's before we left. Starsky went out to the car, but I hung back and stood at the door. Suddenly, Pete started crying, hurting again for her father. I tried to comfort her, but it was all too raw. She'd loved her father, and missed him terribly, but even so, she said that in just the short time we'd been together, _I_ had shown her more love than he ever had. In her mind, she had started dismissing the memory of her father, and transferring her feelings for him to me. That was too many conflicts for a child to have to deal with.

After a while, she felt better. She promised to go straight to Kiko's, so I finally went down to the car. Starsky didn't say anything, but he knew I had fallen hard for her, and that I would like nothing more than if Kiko would agree to have Pete join his family.

Huggy told us about some guys that had been asking around at the Singapore bar, trying to get a lead on where Pete was hiding. We talked with the bartender and got him to tell us where they were holed up. Of course, the apartment was empty by the time we got there. Another dead end.

We were on our way back to the station to run their names when dispatch patched through a call from Kiko. Pete was in trouble at my place! I called in for all available units and Starsky wasted no time in getting there. We chased the hoods that were after her, and nabbed them quickly. The uniforms took over once we'd cuffed them. Pete finally admitted that she had the diamonds with her--the only thing she had left of her father's.

We had a nice Christmas holiday at Kiko's house, handing out gifts, all of us gathered together like an extended family. Starsky gave me an ant farm and Kiko gave me a Venus flytrap. Kiko was excited that he was gaining a sister--or was it a brother? Pete was a good kid and adding her to our pseudo-family was the best present you could have given me. Which made Starsky's disappointment with his present hurt a little less. He didn't see what I was trying to convey in giving him a tree. He didn't see it yet, but maybe someday he would.

~~~

We had to be in court early after our Christmas vacation was done. Simone Marcus was scheduled to be sentenced for his crimes, and there was no way we were gonna miss it. Starsky convinced me, though, to drop my car off at Merle's for a tune-up before we went. I wouldn't need the car, he said, since we'd be in court most of the day and I was riding with him anyway. I wasn't too happy about using his mechanic, considering that cars coming out of his shop had a tendency to look like parade floats from Mars, but we had bigger things to focus on.

Simone's sentencing day was finally here. That psycho would finally get what was coming to him, thanks in part to us. He wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else with his brainwashing and sadistic torture. He would suffer alone in prison for the crimes that he committed. But even as we entered the courthouse for this final stage of his trial, there were still followers of his on the steps, chanting and praying and spouting their devotion to a man who had led them into a nightmare existence.

Starsky excused himself as soon as we got into the courtroom, as was his ritual. How emptying his bladder could sway the judge I'll never know, but if something works, you don't question it. I was surprised when he hadn't returned by the time they led Simone before the bench. The man had a cold, empty stare that seemed to reach deep inside you. It was like he didn't care what he had done. He didn't care back when we arrested him, and he hadn't shown any care throughout the trial, either. How can one man be so emotionless, yet churn up everything inside of me?

I underestimated his power. I thought the world was finally safe from him; I thought _we_ were safe from him. We weren't.

A note, one simple note, turned my world completely inside out.

"Where's Starsky?"

Such a chillingly simple question, but one that had been delivered from the devil himself. Immediately, my blood dropped a few degrees. Simone looked deep inside me and mocked my pain. There was an eerie silence as I walked down the hall to the restrooms. There were no cops around standing guard, even though they'd been stationed there just a few minutes before. Striding down that corridor, I was suddenly alone, and afraid. Inside the men's room, all there was to greet me was the bloody goodbye of Starsky's name scrawled across the bathroom mirror.

Racing through the halls, out the front door, I shouted Starsky's name over and over, but was met with silence. Simone's followers were gone, dispersed as if nothing were holding them there anymore. I ran back to the courtroom, disrupting the judge's soft-spoken recounting of Simone's crimes. The judge decided to postpone the sentencing. We had to find Starsky; we had to get him out of the clutches of a man who could reach out far beyond the boundaries set for him.

The court adjourned. The judge sent Simone back to his cell, while Dobey and I were left to hash out what we could do. It was no surprise when a call from Starsky's captors demanded the one thing that we couldn't: Simone's release.

The devil himself controlled Starsky's life. If I were going to get him back, I'd have to face the devil himself, so I did. I went to the jail and squared off with Simone Marcus, begging him to release my partner.

Simone only smiled and told me he dreamed our deaths, that he dreamed truths and futures without hope. I threw him against the wall when he taunted me that Starsky was already fulfilling his latest prophecy. No, he's not going to die! He's going to be found. _I'll_ find him.

Simone called me the White Knight. Maybe I am. Maybe I want to save everyone all the time, but right now all I wanted to do was save one person, the most important person in my life.

I had twenty-three hours to find Starsky; that's how long the judge was willing to hold off sentencing. Less than a day to either find my partner or say goodbye to him forever. Simone told me to begin at the end, so I went to the place where we thought we had stopped his reign of terror, the old storefront he'd been using for a temple. But that wasn't wasn't any help. His followers were still there, and his control over them couldn't be broken by anything I said. I needed their help, but none of them would give it to me. The gift they left in the front seat of the Torino, a nightmare jack-in-the-box holding Starsky's badge, mocked me with the reminder that they had all the control and I had none.

But I couldn't let them win, couldn't let Starsky go without a fight.

I got into the Torino and started off towards the station, but took a turn off the road before I got there. Leaving the car, I ran out onto the edge of an overlook. Waves were lapping against the shore below, but it did nothing to soothe me. Nature could not caress away the pain I was feeling.

"What do you want from me?" I shouted into the wind. "You took him!" The wind did not answer, as if my inner torment wasn't worth a response. I searched the ocean for a clue as to why I was being tested.

"He's gone and you let him be taken."

Or was it my own fault?

"_I_ let him be taken," I admitted softly. "He's gone because I didn't keep him safe."

I grasped the overlook's railing, with a sigh. Closing my eyes, I fought back my emotions.

"I couldn't keep him safe. Why couldn't I keep him safe?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Why couldn't I look after my partner and protect him from the reaches of a man who held no value for life?

I opened my eyes again, looking out over the ocean's expanse.

"Keep him safe until I get to him," I begged. "I'll get him back; I have to get him back." I grew quiet, losing my thoughts in the gentle lapping of the waves. _Keep him safe. Keep him safe._ My mantra was my companion as I returned to the car, and then to the station. He had to be safe. Nothing could happen to him because I was going to find him.

I _had_ to find him.

The countdown continued. Nineteen hours left, while time slowly seeped away.

We found out that the blood in the bathroom wasn't Starsky's, but had come from a large animal. It made me think of offerings, and ritual slaughter, like Simone's followers had done before. A rancher, Mr. Crow, owned the farm where Marcus' followers had slaughtered animals for their sacrifices before. I went out to his place to discover that he had been hit again.

Despite what they'd done to his prize bull, he wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even give me a lead as to where to start looking. He was angry and tired, but so was I. There was a lot riding on this, Starsky's very life, but he didn't seem to care. I promised I'd protect him, but he knew that was a lie. I hadn't even been able to protect Starsky; he threw that in my face.

It was only the bitter truth, brought home brutally when an explosion in his barn killed him while I was standing right outside it. I _couldn't_ protect him, any more than I'd been able to protect my own partner.

But in spite of his sudden, shocking death, I couldn't focus on that. I suddenly saw a black van. It was a lead, and I had to follow it. In the chase I lost it, then found it again, but lost the occupants. My lead disappeared, vanished, leaving behind only the scent of fire and death.

Seventeen hours, counting down. Dobey and the uniforms were taking care of the crime scene. I had to take care of Simone.

Back at the prison, I had to endure more warnings and prophecies jumbled in the words of a madman. Starsky was still out there, somewhere, while Simone talked in circles of first kingdoms and temples.

"Once in ebony and granite, now we're in trees and water, for the king of the forest is dead."

What did that mean? How could that lead me to find Starsky? It was all just words, and jumbled images, nothing that gave a clear picture of where to find my partner.

I fully intended to drive straight back to the station. But I made another detour to a bar. A little liquid courage never hurt anybody, right? I needed something to banish the demons so I could think straight. But Huggy found me before I could do much damage. I had only downed half my beer before he got to me.

"Any word on Starsky?" he asked, sliding into the booth opposite me.

I shook my head, taking another swallow of beer. "Simone's playing us and I don't know where to start."

"You'll find him," he assured me.

I put the glass down, keeping my eyes on it. "I can't lose him, Huggy."

"I know."

I raised my eyes. "I can't lose him," I repeated, this time with more strength.

"Brother, I know," he said with more conviction. "And we'll find him."

I ducked my head a little, taking another taste of the beer. "I'm afraid one of these days it's gonna be too late, you know?"

"Hey," he said, getting my attention. "Won't do him any good for you to be in the bottom of a beer glass, will it?" He stood up. "Don't you have a prior engagement with Dobey?"

I shrugged. "No good being there; same dead ends anywhere I go."

"Well, three heads being better than one, we can do a lot better if we were all in one place." He pulled at my arm. "Come on, let me take you to the station."

I complied, silently. If Huggy wanted to help, let him help. It's not like I was making much progress on my own.

The three of us sat around trying to discover a clue in Simone's murky proclamation. We spent endless hours, proving only that Simone's could taunt us and control us from the security of his prison cell. He held Starsky's future, _my_ future, in his hands, and we weren't smart enough to discover the path he was leading us to.

It was night, then morning, but the hours meant nothing. We were still blind, deaf to the truth that would lead us to Starsky.

Huggy had the first real breakthrough, and found a connection. Simone spoke only the truth, but he spoke it in riddles: Starsky, Stoney Black, Rex Woods, the old lab they used to run out at the zoo. The path was right there the whole time, but now we could finally see it clearly. I raced out of the office, Dobey following. We had to get to Starsky, before it was too late.

This time, thank God, we weren't too late. In fact, we were barely in time. But finally it was over. He was safe, he was here, he was going to be fine with me.

I took him to the hospital, but he wouldn't stay, so I brought him home, back to my place. He wasn't going to leave; he wasn't going to run away again. He was here, he was real, and he was alive. We lay in bed together and I held him tight, feeling the reality of his body against mine. I wasn't quite sure this just wasn't a new hallucination.

"You're really here," I said, kissing his cheek. "I thought I'd never..."

"I knew you'd find me," he said, softly.

I moved up towards the bandage that covered the burn over his right eye, kissing the white gauze. "But they hurt you and I wasn't there to stop them."

"You were there," he assured me, hugging me tighter to him. "I never was alone; you were always there."

"I was scared," I whispered, moving my lips back down his face.

"So was I," he admitted quietly.

I pressed my ear against his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart. "But you always knew I'd be there?"

"Always," he said, gently threading his fingers through my hair. "You always find me."

"I'll always find you," I promised, bringing my head up towards his face and pressing my lips against his.

I feared there might come a day when I broke that promise, but right now I didn't want to think about that. Right now, I just wanted to hold him and show him that I would never leave him. He was back with me, safe, and I didn't have to be scared anymore.

Dobey gave us a week off for Starsky to get back on his feet. Every day we'd do mundane tasks and every night we'd lay together and hold each other safe in our arms. The world outside didn't matter when we were together. This was just about us protecting each other. No one could hurt us as long as we had each other.

~~~

Once we were back on duty, we went back to being a fluid working unit. We argued about food; we did our duty; we tried to protect the innocent. We even bought into Huggy's belief that "The Amazing Collandra" was a genuine psychic.

Well, I bought into it, but Starsky took a lot more convincing.

Huggy kept telling us about Collandra's vision of "pretty dead horses grazing in the sun" and "giant happy wheels climbing to the sky." Psychics can't say something straight out, like, "look in an amusement park," they can only describe the images that come to them. Huggy said that Collandra told him that's where we could find a man who'd been killed.

He was right, too. But we didn't expect the dead body we found there to be directly linked to a kidnapping case Dobey had called us in on. The same guy we found dead in the back of that van at the amusement park was part of a team that had abducted Joe Hanes' daughter just that morning.

Starsky didn't rub "The Amazing Collandra," whose real name was Collins, the right way at all. When we went back to question him, to see if he could give us anymore leads, all Starsky could talk about were his suspicions that Collins might be involved with the kidnappers himself. Even when Collandra told us about a robbery happening right down the street, I don't think Starsky was convinced of his innocence. I knew Collins wasn't our guy, but he was our best lead.

Waiting for kidnappers' demands is deadly game, compounded by counting down the hours until the ransom has to be dropped. Collandra kept getting visions of roses, a past in gambling, a connection to a man named Momo... It was all coming together, but not fast enough. We had to deliver the ransom and I won the toss.

And it wasn't so much the dangerous situation that had me worried, it was the fact that Starsky was trying to prove how resilient he was. After Simone, he wanted to show how strong he was, but chasing after me on a bike across town was not the best course of action. Sure he was trying to cover me, but to carry an elephant gun on a ransom drop was a little extreme. As we got ready to go our separate ways, I tried to get his attention.

"Got enough gas?" I asked.

"Yep."

"Check the oil?"

"Nope," he said.

"How about the chains? Tight enough?"

"Nope."

"Air pressure?"

"Got me," he said. "Shoes tied?"

"Yeah," I answered, unsure.

"Then step on it."

"Hey," I said, making him focus on me. I wouldn't say goodbye; we never said goodbye. "You be careful."

We both needed that advice.

With me running like a madman across town, while having my partner follow me at break-neck speed, both of us trying to jump through the hoops that the kidnappers set up, we were walking a thin line of safety. A line I stumbled over with one foul-up.

A black-and-white cop car was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I paid the price. One swift bullet to the chest sent me sailing backwards through the plate glass of a storefront. One minute I'm panting from my sprint, and the next I'm bruised and bloody, laying in the middle of broken glass.

Then Starsky was there, almost instantaneously. He thought I was dead; he'd forgotten that I was wearing a bulletproof vest. He was afraid he had lost me, but I didn't realize how far that fear went.

We finally found the girl alive, with Collandra's help, and returned her to her parents. Dobey let us put off the report until tomorrow, saying we should go home and clean up since we looked like marathon rejects.

Starsky didn't really talk in the car; he didn't bring up anything about his fear or anger. He just drove us back to my place as if we had only finished another day. But when we got up to my apartment and closed the door to shut out the world, he broke down.

Pushing me roughly against the door, he claimed my mouth with his own. He was breathless by the time he pulled back.

"I thought they'd killed you," he panted, resting his forehead against mine.

"Take more than that to get me," I tried to joke.

"It knocked you through a glass window," he reminded me, shoving my outer shirt over my shoulders and down my arms. I gasped when the material slid over my wounded elbow. "And they hurt you." The shirt fell to the floor.

"Just a little scratch, nothing big," I said, trying to minimize it.

Starsky stripped his jacket, letting it fall. He pulled me along with him as he backed up towards the bathroom. He undid my holster, tossing it onto the couch. Tugging at my green t-shirt, yanked it over my head.

"More like a beating," he said, taking in a ragged breath when he saw my colorful ribs.

A bulletproof vest is great for stopping bullets, but not without bruising the wearer. I hissed as Starsky traced his fingers over the black and blue edges. He looked up at me, questioning.

"It had to be done," I said. "We had to find her."

"At the risk of our own lives?" he asked, looking at the bruises.

"It's what we do."

"It's what's gonna get us killed." He started towing me towards the bathroom again. "How much longer do we have to let everything go? How much longer do we have to play these games?" Only, he wasn't moving me towards the bathroom. He was hustling me towards the bed. "How much longer are we gonna have to pretend about what's real and what isn't?" He pushed me onto the bed, pressing me to lie down. "It's not about living a lie, it's about _living_, period." He reached for the button on my pants.

I put my hand on his, stilling him for a minute. "Starsk, what are you doing?"

"I'm showing you what's real," he said, unbuttoning my pants and pulling down the zipper. "I'm showing you...I'm showing you." He hauled my pants down as I raised my hips. Down my legs they went, coming off along with my shoes and socks. He gazed back at me. "This is real, Hutch. You and me, this is real."

He started to remove his own shirt. "This is about us. Tonight, this is just about us." He kicked off his shoes, letting them drop with a hollow thud. "What you are, what we are to each other, that's real." He unbuttoned his pants, struggling with them to get them over his lean form. The material grabbed at him in all the right places, but he soon had them off.

Starsky went to the nightstand and brazenly pulled out the lube I kept there. He'd asked me about it before, but he knew why I kept it. "Do you want me?"

"You know I do," I breathed. "I've never wanted anything more."

"Good," he said, squeezing the lube's contents into his palm, then coating his hardening cock. "Because I want you, too."

He joined me on the mattress, turning me over on the sheets. He lubricated his fingers and started preparing me for what was to come.

"Are you real?" he asked, pushing me harder into the mattress.

"Yes!" I grunted, my face pressed into the sheet.

"Are you alive?" he asked, forcing his lubricated cock into my tight entrance. "Yes," I breathed, willing him to continue.

"Tell me you're real," he ordered, thrusting forward.

"I'm real!" I yelled.

"Do you want me?" he teased.

"I want you! Take me," I begged.

"Tell me you're alive," he said, penetrating me further.

"I'm alive, I'm here," I managed to say as I felt his organ fill me.

"Who protects you?" he demanded, using his body to cover mine.

"You do!"

"Don't leave me," he groaned as he shoved his entire weight into me.

"Never!" I promised.

He pulled back and re-entered with driving force. Each jolt sent me into a state of euphoria that I had no words to describe. He possessed me, owned me, while assuring himself that I was there, that I was real. It was a primal need, a longing desire to connect and assure ourselves that the world hadn't succeeded in separating us.

We were alive. We were together. We were whole.

~~~

It was with that knowledge, that new experience between us, that we set out on the road towards our next assignment, straight back to Starsky's past.

Joe Durniak, the mobster, had helped Starsky after his dad had been killed. He had helped put Starsky's family back together again. But Durniak's business was the one thing the elder Starsky had fought against his entire life.

What must that have done to a child, to see a man who had the respect of his mother and the disgust of his father at the same time? Twenty years after Starsky ran away from him the first time, we were running straight towards him this time. We had been sent to protect him, to keep him safe until he could turn over names and dates on crime bosses across the country. Starsky's father had given his life protecting the world from people like Joe, and now we had to be willing to give ours to protect him.

Starsky wouldn't talk about it, even when I prodded him. He still couldn't reconcile his life back in New York with the life he had made in California. Back then he'd been reckless, rebellious, heading on a road that would take him straight to prison. But Joe had set him straight, making Starsky hate him enough to want to act right, but also allowing Starsky to gain respect for the man, too.

I knew Starsky's dad had been shot down in the streets. He'd told me that late one night at the Academy. That's why Starsky was there in the first place, to do his father proud. But what I didn't know was how much conflict still existed in his mind about his past. I didn't know that Joe had paid for his father's funeral, not until Starsky said it himself while looking at the man he both hated and honored who was suddenly our responsibility as he hid in the back of a tractor-trailer truck.

I was relieved that Joe wanted me in the back with him, instead of Starsky. This way, I could get a little more information about my partner, stuff that he wouldn't willingly talk about. Joe Durniak knew the man I called Starsky as Davey, a child who hated the men who had killed his dad, and hated himself for not being man enough to take care of his family.

"He never told you about me paying for the funeral, did he?" Joe asked, once we were back on the road.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "He doesn't like to talk about it."

"His father was a good man. I hated to see what happened to him go down the way it did. His mother needed the help, so I offered."

"And Starsky hated you for it," I suggested.

Joe laughed. "Little Davey was always strong-willed. He hated me for who I was, but hated me more when I stepped up and did good by his family." He let his smile drop. "He's gonna hate me more when he hears some of the names I'll be telling the grand jury."

"If it takes down criminals, that's all that matters."

"Even if I take down his dad's old partner?" Joe looked pointedly at me.

"Frank Harris?" I asked in disbelief.

"Man works the streets long enough, he starts to resent things," Joe said, leaning back against the side of the trailer. "He starts seeing a way to cut corners, get some money by looking the other way. Davey's dad never did that; he was one of the honest ones."

"Frank Harris was on the take?" I still couldn't believe it. "This is... This will..."

"I know," Joe admitted, nodding. "It's gonna be hard for him, but things have to be said that he won't like."

"It'll kill him."

"Or make him stronger. Davey was always a strong kid. I'm betting he turned out to be a strong man."

"He is," I agreed. "Never met anyone who I'd trust more."

"It's good for a man to trust his partner."

I more than trusted Starsky; I loved and respected him. But Joe naming names that included Frank Harris would definitely put him into a tailspin. The man he hated, Joe Durniak, was going to take down the man he loved almost like a second father. The world was never black and white, but the grayness was beginning to seep too much into our view. There was no right or wrong, just days when you had to decide who hurt whom more.

Joe tried to tell Starsky, wanting to lessen the blow for him, when we were waiting in the hotel room, but I couldn't let the man destroy my partner's past so soon. He needed to have at least a few more days of uncomplicated memories before Joe blew the whistle.

But soon it was moot because Joe was dead. He was gunned down in front of the hotel, and there wasn't a thing we could do to protect him. A part of me was almost relieved because now Starsky would never have to know the truth, never have to see Frank as anything more than a respectable cop. Starsky didn't need to have that memory complicated by a dead man's words.

It wasn't until we were at my place, while harboring Terry Nash until we could make sense of his story, that I asked about Joe at all. Terry was asleep on the couch, so we were alone in the bedroom and could talk more freely.

"That man in there admitted to killing Joe Durniak," Starsky pointed out, turning over to face me.

"I know."

"So how come I'm not angrier at him?"

"Because he's being taken for a ride, just like we are," I said.

Starsky was quiet for a few minutes before speaking again. "You really think Joe was gonna reveal all those names?"

I looked at him more closely. "I think he was willing to do what was right, no matter how much it hurt."

"He said I wouldn't like some of the names I heard."

"Well," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder, "it's not an issue now. Whatever information he had went to the grave with him. Terry made sure of that."

"Yeah, I guess so," Starsky said, still sounding unconvinced.

"Just get some rest, okay?" I said, pulling him closer. "Can't fight the battle of a dead man, Starsk."

"I know," he sighed. "I know."

So we fell asleep, not talking about the truths Joe had revealed to me. I wasn't going to destroy a perfectly good image of Frank Harris with the doubts cast by Joe. Starsky deserved that last good memory of a life destroyed by a gunshot in the streets of New York.

But Terry Nash was just as much a problem as Joe Durniak. That wasn't even his real name. He was a pawn in an elaborate plot to destroy others, while the pawns were set up to destroy themselves. It involved a far-reaching network of anonymous people who were being used and discarded when their work was done. Terry wasn't supposed to live; he wasn't supposed to survive after he shot Joe, but their plan had been flawed.

Now Terry had to go toward a future that he didn't understand and a past he couldn't remember. Who he had been didn't exist anymore, hadn't for who knows how long. But the FBI still took him in, charging him with the murder of Joe Durniak. There was a lot of support for finding him not guilty by reason of insanity, but he wasn't really insane. He had been controlled by a nameless, faceless conspiracy we had yet to uncover. What was to become of him was up to a judge to decide.

On top of Starsky losing Joe, he lost his beloved Torino. The car had been blown up by another innocent pawn in the plot, a young woman who believed it was her duty to destroy us. Even Merle couldn't do anything with the wreckage, so the car was declared totaled. Nothing could be done but for Starsky to buy another one. Well, _we'd _have to buy another one. What's his is mine and all that jive. As much as I hated the car, he loved it, so I gave him a little help on the finances. He tried to refuse, claiming he didn't need any help, but I finally got him to see it my way. If what's his is mine, then his happiness was mine, too.

One Terry left our lives and another entered it.

Terry Roberts, a teacher at the Marshall Center for special children, had invited Frank and Doug, two other detectives, to come talk to her class about being cops, but they couldn't make it when they were scheduled to. They were in court, so they asked us to substitute for them. It would be an easy hour, we thought, so why not?

Ms. Roberts was a great teacher. I could see how much care she took with the children. She was great about us substituting for Frank and Doug, and the children seemed to love us. Starsky fell hard for the kids, and didn't want to leave when our time was up. So Terry invited us to come out and visit again sometime. We both promised we would, as soon as we could. It was nice to get a chance to see the good side of life after seeing such pain and suffering everyday.

The FBI finally cleared us, canceling the warrant against us, and even threw out the hearing since we had plenty of evidence to support our theory of the organization that had set up Terry Nash.

Once our names were cleared, there was no reason not to go back on the streets. We found ourselves heading straight into another undercover case. It was supposed to be a simple bust; we would go under for an illegal car deal and catch them in the act. Which is why there didn't need to be any elaborate schemes. But it ticked off Starsky when I won the coin toss. See, the undercover man was supposed to be a big dealer from back East, New York to be exact. Even though Starsky was overly qualified, I won the toss fair and square.

"Roll your o's," he complained as we were walking down the stairs. "Make them sound like a's. Yawk, dah-wn."

"Aww?" I asked. I was just egging him on.

"Haven't you learned anything from me all these years?" He sounded frustrated. "And what about those clothes? Too shiny."

"I'm a big dealer. I dress big," I explained.

"You're dressed like the tin man. No respectable New Yorker would be caught dead in a jacket like that."

"Good thing I'm none of the above then," I joked.

"Come on, act right. Now, what're you supposed to say when you want us to come in?"

It was the same conversation we'd been having since we learned of the set-up. He was worried. He was ticked off. He was Starsky. Whatever fears he had were in his own mind. This was an easy case, smooth sailing. And except for the little transistor radio mishap in procurement, we were in and out of the station in no time.

Finally, everyone was in place at the site. Starsky was covering the radio and the uniforms, waiting for my call. It didn't take long for Vic Humphries to show his true colors. He thought he could take me for a ride and come out $50,000 richer. He was wrong. His muscle managed to slam me over the hood of a car before back-up got there, but everything went down without too much damage. My jaw would be sore for a while, but I was still in one piece.

Back at the station, my jaw was still aching. I got an ice pack for it, the cold helping. Starsky thought a bite of his burrito would solve all my problems. The man is gonna die one of these days from all the things he puts in his gut. It hurt my stomach just watching him shovel it in. After Vic's good-for-nothing lawyer left, I offered to solve the problem myself.

"You wanna come to dinner tonight?"

Starsky stopped playing with his burrito for a minute. "Why?"

"When have you ever questioned a free meal?" I asked.

"Not often," he said between bites. "What you planning?"

I turned a little red at that. "I'm not planning anything. I offered you dinner. You want to come or don't you?"

"Maybe," he hedged. "I have to do something later, but I'll call and maybe we can get together."

"Okay," I answered, still puzzled by his evasiveness. "Well, I'll just have leftovers if you change your mind."

He didn't say anything else about the subject for the rest of the day. We finished up the reports and went home like normal. I didn't let Starsky's weirdness get to me. That was my partner, odd and frustrating at times, but still Starsky. If he wanted to come over, he would call. I had plenty of food to go around. I made it through fixing dinner with only a small cut on my finger. I was just about to put everything in the oven when the phone rang.

Lou Scoby had a tip on a murder investigation we were doing. Lou's hot tips were often ice cold, but you can't take chances. I really didn't feel like going all the way out to Barnaby's Tavern, so I offered to have Starsky go meet him. I mean, he was out anyway; driving down to see Lou wouldn't be too bad. But Lou wouldn't hear of it, said it was me or nobody. So, I put dinner on hold and got in my car to make the twenty minute drive.

Mountains on a good day were okay, but not when you have a guy in a truck trying to run you off the road. My car was no match for that massive dump truck. I felt myself flip over again and again as the LTD rolled down the canyon.

I don't know how long I was down there before I woke up, but when I did all I knew was pain, lots of pain. I was pinned under my car, my leg throbbing with every heartbeat, and there was no one was around to help. Dispatch couldn't hear my calls, no one was on the road that could stop to help. I was alone. My throat went dry with my unheard yells, my pleas over the static of the radio for someone, anyone to hear me. Why couldn't anyone hear me? Why wouldn't anyone help?

As the new day broke, I found my rearview mirror was within reach. A shot. Heat raced through my leg as I stretched out for it. I had to catch my breath before I could concentrate on what to do with it. If I could catch the light with it, maybe someone above me would see and investigate. There seemed to be no one around at first, but then someone appeared. In the breaking daylight I heard singing, shuffling, then a shadow loomed over me. He was real; he was here to help me--but he wasn't.

When I asked him for some water, he just used it to shine his shoes. When I asked him to help me, he wouldn't. Colonel Sonny McPhearson wasn't there to help; he was there to play in his imaginary war. The war had been over for decades, but I was still his prisoner.

He found my gun, and held it on me the whole day as he recounted his memories of long-forgotten battles. By nightfall, he had run out of both stories and patience. I wasn't worth sticking around for, so he abandoned me. I was at his mercy, trying desperately to hold onto the hope that he'd tell someone about me after he left me for dead.

Mildred's voice came over the radio once again, calling for Ocean Eleven, for back-up. But she couldn't hear me, couldn't hear my pleas for assistance. Officer down, somebody help me, but they wouldn't, no one would. I talked without direction into the mike, hoping that some random listener would hear me and send help. Sonny knew where I was; they should go ask Sonny. I had to keep hoping. It was the only thing I had to hang onto.

The shadows started to reach out for me, grabbing for me. Simone had dreamed my death, this death. He was there, over me, warning me that he had dreamed it and that all his dreams came true. I was going to die. I was going to be forgotten in this canyon. No one would come for me. No one would find me. Even Starsky wouldn't be able to find me. He would search and search, but I was too well hidden. Eventually he'd give up his search and try to live without me, but I would always haunt his dreams and remind him of his failure. Simone had dreamed it, and now all of it would come true.

The next daylight brought hands. Rough hands, angry hands. But then, much later, soft hands, caring hands.

Then Starsky's voice was there, his hands holding my head and assuring me everything was okay, that we'd made it. Had we? Was he real? Nothing seemed real anymore. All I knew was pain, loneliness, my death about to come. Where had he come from? Was it okay to rest now? Was I safe? I had to rest, let the pain seep away, or else I'd scream. Just let me rest for now, just a little, and then I could concentrate. I had to pretend I was safe. I hoped I was safe.

The next time I woke up, the pain was gone. Maybe Simone was right. Maybe his dreams did come true. But if I were dead, I wouldn't be lying in a hospital room would I? I wouldn't have my leg hiked up in a cast. And Starsky wouldn't be there, waiting for me. I couldn't be dead; I had to be alive.

When Starsky's eyes caught mine, I knew I was safe.

"Are you real?" I managed to croak out.

"You're awake!" he yelled, jumping out of the chair.

"I need..."

"Water, you need water," he said, trying to anticipate what I was trying to say.

He brought a half-filled cup up to my mouth, urging me to drink some through the straw. I complied, letting the cool liquid soothe my throat. I pushed it away when I'd had enough. "Are you real?" I asked again.

"As real as always," he said, smiling as he put the cup back on the bedside table. He leaned down and kissed me, softly brushing my lips. "Does that feel real?"

"It feels good," I admitted, trying to manage a smile.

And it did feel good. It felt right. He loved me, he'd found me, and I was safe again. There was nothing that could make this end. We were in love and during my hospital stay he showed me again and again how deep that love went. I couldn't ask for anything else. I had someone who cared for me, who was devoted to me as much as I was devoted to him.

Starsky replaced my car, right down to the dented fender. That's when I knew that no matter what, he wanted me to be happy. Instead of pleasing himself and getting me a car that looked shiny and new and fast, he got me what _I_ wanted. He always tried to give me what I wanted.

I thought we were on track, committed for the long haul. I should've known better. Nothing is ever simple when it comes to love. Nobody can predict it and nobody can stop it. I wanted to make up for the dinner we missed before my accident, so I called him.

"Make it fast," he answered.

"That's not a good way to answer your phone."

"Oh," his tone softened. "Hutch, hey."

"Hey yourself. I called to see if you wanted to try again on that dinner I never got to cook."

"Dinner..."

"Yeah, you know, food. You eat it three times a day, or more often in your case," I joked.

"Right," he sounded distant. "I, um, I have to do something tonight."

"Oh? You never said."

"Yeah, I..." his voice faded, then I heard him sigh. "I didn't want to do this now, not like this."

My blood ran cold. "Do what?"

"Hutch, I've got a date with Terry Roberts."

"The teacher from Marshall?"

"That's her. We're going dancing."

"Then why are you scaring me half to death?" I laughed. "So you're going out with the teacher, big deal. I never said you couldn't go have fun. I'm certainly in no shape to dance until this cast comes off."

"This isn't the first time," he quietly said. "I've been seeing her awhile."

"Well...I mean..." I stumbled over my words. "You're allowed to go out and have friends. I'm not saying you..."

"This is more than friends," he said. "Hutch, I'm really falling for her."

"What are you saying, Starsky?" I pushed.

"I still love you, Hutch. That hasn't changed."

"How serious is this?" my voice was rough.

"I think she could be the one."

The words, the pain it brought, made me want to hate her. She'd broken into what we had and was trying to steal him away.

But I couldn't hate her, not once I realized what she had come to mean to Starsky. She could give him what he'd always wanted--a family, a normal life. She could give him her love openly, without fear of what people would think. And more importantly, to the both of us, she fit. With Terry, he could have it both ways, with me as a lover he could sleep with after working the streets with him all day, and with her as a woman he could take out in public as a respectable wife. We fit, all three of us, in a warped relationship of love and friendship and partnership. I couldn't hate Terry; she wasn't a threat. She was a part of me, I was a part of her, and together we could be the whole person Starsky could love.

When I got back to work, we started working a couple of easy cases involving a string of liquor store robberies. Well, it was easier than our usual fare. Terry always made jokes about Starsky's schedule, about how he broke so many dates in favor of spending the night on stakeout with me, that it was becoming a habit. But she understood, accepted it, and knew that when he was with me he was safe. We always went to the Marshall Center for an hour every morning so he could spend some time with her and we could both spend some time with the kids. It was our time to be together, our odd, three-way marriage existing in unspoken understanding.

But he was determined not to break his date with her that night we got the call, that night that changed our futures. There were reports of shots fired at the store by Terry's place; her usual routine of getting a quart of milk and a paper suddenly interrupted by a gunshot. Starsky cradled her head, tried to soothe her unease, as I worked to understand the situation. The store owner said the robbers seemed to zero in on Terry, not caring about the money or the robbery so much. They were targeting her, not the store. Someone was after Terry and by default, Starsky.

But he couldn't concentrate on anything but Terry. We rode over to the hospital, but there was nothing that could be done until the doctors finished examining her. He wanted to wait it out; I wanted to act. So, I took the car back to the station and started working. Anything to get my mind off the waiting. Too bad I couldn't convince Starsky that it was a good alternative to what he was doing. But he wanted to stay, just in case. I wanted to be there to support him, too, but my drive to protect him was even stronger.

The lab guys found a thumb print, so that was something. We could get a lead from that, figure out who one of the robbers might be. But that was all we had. The bullet couldn't be analyzed, so no gun connection could be made. The store owner couldn't give a good description. We had nothing to go on except one thumb print. But that was better than nothing.

It was morning before I got back to the hospital and Starsky still hadn't heard anything. I was about to tell him what my theory was, how the attack was connected to us, but the doctor interrupted us. She sent Starsky into Terry's room with the veiled suggestion that something bad was to come of her diagnosis.

After we found out about Terry's prognosis, there was too much pain for us to even talk. The doctor told Starsky the truth when he left Terry's room, but I had cornered her before that. I wanted to know what to expect, how to deal with Starsky, and Terry, and the whole situation. I was still in shock when he came back to the waiting room after their discussion. He had tears in his eyes; I knew then that he knew.

I hugged him tight, just letting my arms encircle him and give the strength that I was afraid I didn't have. He choked back sobs and held me, too. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were still wet. We just looked at each other, saying more with silence than our voices would allow at that point. We didn't talk all the way down in the elevator. When we got to the car, Starsky just silently handed over the keys and slipped into the passenger's side. I looked at the keys for a minute before making a move to get in. When I finally did sit behind the wheel, I glanced over at him. The sight of him sitting there was almost too much to bear.

I could see so much anger flowing through him at having his dreams ripped away. All he had ever wanted was a normal life with a wife and kids, but he couldn't have it. Not now, not with this woman.

I turned the ignition on and pulled out of the parking space into traffic. A killer had struck close to home. What was the point in all this? Why did we go out there everyday and risk our own lives--for nothing? We'd nail one criminal and by the time we had him arrested, four more had committed new crimes. We work endless days just to keep our heads above the tide. What was the point of it all? There was still crime everywhere. The job makes us live, but it doesn't bring much joy.

Right then it seemed like neither of us would ever find happiness.

After Gillian had died I became convinced that I didn't deserve to be happy. Look at what this job had cost me already. I lost my wife. Well, maybe I had lost her long before the job took away all my free time, but it still contributed to the end of my marriage. I lost my girlfriend; I lost a lot of girlfriends. Being committed to a cop was not the easiest thing in the world and I certainly didn't help it any.

The only constant through it all had been Starsky. I knew that no matter what, he would still be there to pick up the pieces of my life. Starsky was there when Vanessa left, assured me that I was worth everything to him. I was determined to not let him feel worthless now. He needed to know that there was someone there for him, someone who wouldn't leave him.

More than even that, he needed rest. That would help in the short run. I decided to take him over to my place and put him to bed. If we could just lie down, take our minds off of it for a while, then everything would look a little better. What did the doctors know, anyway? They were just guessing most of the time. They'll give you the worst-case scenario and then, if it turned out all right, they'd look like miracle workers. Maybe Terry would prove them all wrong. Starsky deserved someone who could make him happy.

I liked Terry a lot. She fit into our relationship so well. Other women knew about our partnership, but they didn't see that we really couldn't be separate people. We belonged together; we needed each other. Terry saw that, and didn't begrudge us that need. She loved Starsky and she loved me for loving Starsky. She always knew that he was safe when he was with me.

I had to keep him safe now, so I planned to take him back to the apartment and lay with him in my arms so that he would know that I was there for him, with him.

Unfortunately, Huggy was there when we arrived, so that plan was shot. We had to be back on duty. Not like we ever left duty. Twenty-four hours a day, we were cops. Laying down the badge and the gun at night didn't mean a thing. Taking solace in each other was the only release we had in the grand scheme. Relieve the pressure or let it kill you. We were each other's lifelines. We had to be strong, to be there when our partner needed it, or else we would be alone.

Starsky definitely needed my strength now, because on top of Terry being shot, Huggy informed us who was partially responsible. George Prudholm was back from our past, creating another nightmare all over again.

Dobey confirmed it. A clerical error had allowed that dangerous felon back on the streets, and ready to get his revenge. Starsky didn't take it well, and neither did I, but he let his anger get the best of him. I didn't even ask him where he was going until he cooled off, just watched him dump his leather jacket in the back seat as I got in the car, silently going along for the ride.

When we had been driving for a while, I asked, "Going anywhere in particular?"

"Away," he snapped.

"Away from the city, the case, what?" I pushed.

"Everything," he said, glancing over at me. "I just wanna wake up and make it all go away."

"You're exhausted, Starsk. Why don't we go back to your place so you can rest, huh?"

"Can't rest, not now."

"Look, the uniforms are looking for Prudholm, and Terry's resting at the hospital. You're dead on your feet. Just rest a little, huh?"

"Terry," he repeated, his voice sounding distant. "He hurt her because of me."

"You're not to blame for this," I told him, putting my hand on his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

"Doesn't matter whose fault it is," he said, turning the car towards his place. "She's hurt and..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. Terry was dying, but he couldn't say the words. She fit with us, she was perfect, but she wasn't going to be there forever. It was Prudholm's fault. Lay the blame there. But Starsky couldn't do that. All he could see was that he put Terry in danger, that it was his fault.

He needed to make it better, needed to show her that he was still there for her. So, when he pulled up to his place and told me to wait in the car, I should have guessed. Starsky wanted to show Terry how much she meant to him, as if a last ditch effort would prove to her that their relationship was strong enough to live through their denial of what was to come. I should have realized what he'd planned, but it didn't dawn on me until he came down in a suit and tie.

He didn't say a word when he started the car and drove towards the hospital. I had to break the silence.

"You're gonna do it, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he said, quietly.

"Why?" It was a simple question, but full of all that was between us. Why propose? Why now? Why create a fantasy that wouldn't come true?

He didn't respond right away, as if he had to formulate a believable answer for the both of us. "Because she loves me, and she deserves to know that...I want what's best for her."

I looked out the window, trying to hide my disappointment in the answer he'd given me. "Do you really think she wants you to do that?" I turned back towards him. "I mean, do you even have any reason to think she'll say yes? That she'll accept your pity as a good enough reason?"

"Give her some credit," he bit back. "She's a good woman."

"I give her a whole lot more credit than you do apparently," I said. "At least I know what's real and what's not. You're the only one who can't accept it."

"She needs to know I care," he said quietly, focusing on the road. "She needs to know that."

In a way, I understood. Terry needed to be reminded that Starsky cared for her, but he also needed to remind himself that this woman was a piece of the puzzle that he thought he'd been missing all these years. She fit, she was a part of us, and he needed to be sure she knew how much that meant before the end. She needed to know he cared.

I waited in the car while he went up to her room. He must have picked up some flowers on the way because when he came back, pushing her in the wheelchair, she was holding a bouquet. I was so surprised that Terry was being released that I didn't even try to breach the subject of the proposal with them. She had already made her most important choice; she'd decided she wanted to live her remaining days out in the world, not trapped in the hospital.

On the drive back to her place, I tried to take her mind off the graveness of the situation, while Starsky was acting like we were driving towards her funeral.

She joined us as if nothing had changed, as if I still fit, too. We were still three people who made a complete package. I wasn't going to be the third point in a triangle.

She wanted to know who shot her, since Starsky had broached the subject when they were coming down the elevator. What was there to say about Prudholm? He was a sick man who wouldn't have lived long enough to do this if I hadn't stopped Starsky when he arrested him the first time? But I had stopped him, and now he'd returned to destroy our lives.

After we dropped Terry off and Starsky had changed back into his street persona, complete with leather jacket, we were back on the case. He wasn't just Terry's at this moment, he was mine, my partner.

We met Freddy, a snitch we knew, who said he had a lead on Prudholm and Woody the Magic Man, one of Prudholm's accomplices. Freddy knew right where to send us because Prudholm made him set us up. Whenever we had to rush through a doorway, I always went high, and Starsky went low. Prudholm had realized that, too. He set us up just to take advantage of that. If I hadn't seen the telltale wire on the door, I would've been shot to death. I was supposed to be another victim in Prudholm's unrelenting campaign against Starsky. He even called Starsky to taunt him over what he assumed was my demise.

Prudholm was still out there, and Starsky still on the edge.

I hoped that the Monopoly night would be a good way to get our minds off everything for a while. But our minds were never far from it. Christine, a girl I'd started dating, fell over her words about a joint vacation Terry would never live long enough to take, and we all danced around the moment. But Terry wouldn't let us avoid it. She was determined to live her remaining days without anyone babying her. She wanted to be happy for a while. The Monopoly games, the mini-golf trip the next day, it was all to make her happy one last time because there was no miracle cure out there for her. Starsky had even sent off for a second opinion, all the way to specialists in New York, but the answer was always the same. She was going to die from this, and there wasn't anything anybody could do about it.

Starsky spent the night with her after the game, both of them holding onto every moment they had left. I promised to be at the school next day like always. Ten o'clock, basketball, I would be there.

It was that next morning that Terry started fading. I saw her sit down abruptly from where I stood across the basketball court, and watched Starsky go to her, then lead her away. I knew without being told that he was taking her to the hospital. I stayed to take care of the kids. I pretended like nothing was wrong, not wanting them to know the truth. But as soon as they were back safely with the other teachers, I called Starsky. Terry was hospitalized. It didn't look good. But there was always hope.

I checked in on him every hour, but there was no new word. During the third hour, I didn't call because he beat me to it.

"Hello?" I answered, picking up the phone at our desk.

There was silence for a few moments before he managed to get the words out. "She's gone."

There was no need to say anything else. It no longer mattered how well she fit with us, how much she meant to us. Ultimately, she wasn't able to win this time. Our careers had brought death into our lives again.

"Starsk, do you want me to come over?"

"I've got to go... I've got to be alone for a while. I can't... I just... I need to get out of here."

He hung up the phone, leaving me with a dial tone. I had to find him before he did something foolish. I had to make sure he was okay. I _had_ to be there for him.

My search didn't find him at his apartment or the hospital. Then a call over the radio made my locating him even more important. Prudholm was holed up at another heist, this time with hostages. The only one he would talk to was Starsky.

I called into Dobey to tell him about Terry, and that as soon as I found Starsky, we'd be at the scene.

I found Starsky where I should have looked in the first place. He'd gone back to Marshall Center and sat there, alone, with the memory of Terry. But we had a job to do.

He seemed to be working on autopilot after I told him about the hostage situation. His body was moving, he was acting like a cop, but his mind was still back in that hospital room with Terry. I had to remind him that this wasn't his case alone. It was ours. Terry was important to us both; we would both take down Prudholm together. And we did, without losing a single life, or acting in vengeance. Starsky had almost been pushed to kill him before, but he had learned his lesson then. He would not let the man have that much control over him again.

But control comes in many forms. Prudholm was gone, secured behind bars once more. But Terry was gone also, permanently. What Starsky needed more than anything, now, was to let out all his pain, all his anger, and try to work through it. That was my role, to be there for him. I watched him as he stormed from one end of the room to the other, yelling about how scum like Prudholm could destroy such a fine person as Terry. I picked up the shattered glass, thrown in an attempt to take his pain out on something that couldn't fight back. I lay beside him every night, holding him and letting him cry over the emptiness that we both felt.

The pieces didn't match right anymore. It was as if the last puzzle piece was hiding under the couch and no one could find it.

I stood beside him at the funeral as he cried over her grave, apologizing to her dead body and her grieving mother. I stood fast with him, giving him strength, when Terry's mother cursed him and the torment he had brought into their lives. I was there for him because he needed me, and because that's what I did, who I was.

Two weeks to the day, just like we promised Terry, we sat in Starsky's house and waited for midnight. Beer helped ease the pain. My late night attempt to get us on the Canadian Football team wasn't entirely sane, but I had to do something because Monopoly wasn't helping much. But in spite of the beer, when the clock struck midnight, we sobered up and couldn't forget her, and what we'd promised. As we opened the gifts she left for us, I knew we never would be able to forget her.

She'd left Starsky a book titled, "1000 Ways to Win Monopoly." She'd always been able to make him smile, and he did again, even now.

To me, though, she gave the most precious gift. I opened the wrapping and inside was Ollie, her teddy bear, the one she'd kept beside her when Starsky wasn't around. The letter she'd left made sure I understood why.

"Dearest Hutch: To you I entrust Dave and Ollie. Love them both and don't let either one of them change."

I would do as she wished; I had never stopped caring for him, and she knew I wouldn't now. Starsky and I had to go forward with our lives, had to learn how to make the pieces fit again, even though there would always be a hole in our puzzle.

We held each other and loved each other, knowing Terry would always be a part of our lives because of who she had been, what she had meant to us both.

~~~

Captain Dobey wanted to ease us back into work, so he gave us a long-term stakeout on a protection racket. It helped take our minds off Terry's murder, while letting us get back into our groove again. We had a moment of laughter when Starsky lost the coin toss and had to go undercover as the old lady at the laundry. Starsky in a dress; that was a good memory to burn into your brain. Between that job and the next stakeout over at the beauty salon, we'd be getting our acting kicks in for the week. Mr. Marlene and Mr. Tyrone were brought out of the closet and tried on for size.

Huggy and his partner kept calling us for help in their new detective agency endeavor. Huggy got the notion that there was money to be made in the private investigator business, so he got one of his buddies to start up the business with him. Now, I don't know where he found Turk, but he was one of the whitest white men I've ever met. He really didn't seem to fit the image Huggy wanted to project, so we knew their plan was doomed from the start.

Our cases intersected when we found out that the protection racket connection went from Foxy Baker to Dan Watson. She had come to ask us for help, but we brushed her off, sending her to Huggy. We couldn't afford to take on another case when we were in the middle of this current one. Except, this one ended up being that one, and vice versa.

We got Watson and his crew, even caught Foxy at the airport before she could make her getaway, but the team of Huggy and Turk was doomed. They split up and moved on to the next big wave in entrepreneurial endeavors.

After that semi-easy assignment, we were hit with two rape cases in one week. No witnesses, no clues, just two frightened women who were too afraid that their attacker would come back after them. That, on top of the murders of two career scumbags, Adams and Blake, and we had our plates full. Adams and Blake were not going to be missed on the streets, especially not by us, but murder is murder. We had no idea why those two criminals were found dead of gunshots in their apartments.

We went over to Millie's Restaurant to get information from Huggy about a drug bust he had heard about. He gave us our lead, but Huggy being Huggy, he wanted to do a little side business with us. Starsky was gullible enough to fall for it though. A pet rock? It's a rock, out of the garden, what kind of scam was that? I figured if Starsky wanted to part with his money, let him. I had better things to concentrate on. I played pool while they negotiated over a rock. When they finished, Huggy was twenty dollars richer. Well, that was, after all, the going rate for a good piece of information.

After Huggy left, we were just trying to relax, but Knight, a career uniform with a bad attitude, made some snide comments about our unusual way of work, implying he could do better. We'd heard worse, so it didn't make an impression on us.

I finished taking practice pool shots, so we headed out to the car. Dobey called us with a possible connection to our rape cases. It was urgent; a woman was screaming in the warehouse district, the same area our target liked to work. We raced over, splitting up as soon as the car skidded to a halt. I managed to collar my guy, Willits, but Starsky lost Billings in the warren of the warehouse.

We handed Willits, another career low-life we couldn't seem to keep behind bars, over to the uniforms for processing. Ironically, Knight was with them, but his attitude hadn't improved any, especially when he found out we'd lost one of the two perps. His attitude started to get to Starsky, who managed to point out that while Knight always showed up on the scene for a difficult call, he always came too late to make a difference.

We went over to the courthouse the next morning for bail hearing, Starsky in his typical jacket-and-jeans combination "formal" wear.

The judge set bail at $10,000 after Samuel Garner, Willits' lawyer, made him look like less of a threat, and insisted he wasn't a flight risk. Garner was a lawyer to the core, sneaky and slimy, and never on our good side.

Dobey had a lead on Ward Billings, the one that had gotten away from Starsky at the warehouse, so we hit the streets, looking for Billings.

We didn't have any luck finding Billings. We pursued a drug tip Huggy had given us, but we still couldn't locate. It was a long day with nothing to show for it. We were tired, cranky, and sweaty.

Starsky sent me out for food, hoping that would revive us.

When I returned with our dinner, I decided to pull a joke on Starsky for kicks. He'd done enough of them to me, so I figured it'd be fun. Besides, searching the streets for invisible men was boring. His face fell when I tempted him with the blue cheese bacon burger I'd gotten for myself and instead offered him a _tuna_ burger with mushrooms. Forced healthiness and Starsky--not a good combination.

Dobey called us on the radio to tell us that Ward Billings had been executed, killed the same way as Adams and Blake. It was beginning to look like we had a vigilante on our hands. Since we no longer needed to search for Billings, our day was finally over. We'd deal with Billings' case tomorrow, when we weren't so tired.

But Starsky didn't start the car right away, just looked distastefully at his half-eaten tuna burger. I couldn't keep up the act anymore, so I handed him my own dinner, and we switched.

When we got back to Starsky's place, I wanted to get our minds off work. I pulled him into my arms and started kissing him gently, making him open up for me. This would be the first time we had attempted to do anything other than sack out since Terry died, but tension needed to be relieved and this always did the job. I started loosening the knot on his tie, so I could remove it. He was moaning into my mouth, urging me on, so I started tugging on his shirt. But in spite of his reactions, he wasn't participating, just passively accepting my advances. Finally, he pulled out of my arms. He said he was too tired to do anything tonight. My plans for seduction went down the drain. Maybe I had misjudged him. It was possible that this was just too soon after Terry, that he didn't want to deal with anything other than sleep tonight. Or maybe he was taking the case home with him again, like he had done before. Whatever it was, there was no room for whatever complications I could bring tonight.

At least we slept together, which was more than we used to do when he wasn't in the mood.

Once we were awake again, we started pursuing the idea that we were looking for a vigilante. I was discussing the MO of the case with Starsky when we arrived at the squad room. There was definitely a connection between the three murders of those three career criminals. Someone out there was taking the law into their own hands.

Before we could hash it out, though, Dobey told Starsky to go down to Internal Affairs. Starsky latched onto me to cement an alibi just in case he needed one. Our two least favorite people were waiting for him in IA's offices--Lieutenant Fargo, the head of IA, and our not-so-favorite lawyer, Garner.

Garner believed that Ward Billings, another of his stellar clients, had been killed by a vigilante, just as we did--but he was convinced the killer was a _cop_. He was also convinced that Adams and Blake, other clients of his, were killed by the same police officer. He went too far, though, when he tried to pin the murders on Starsky.

Garner was careful not to make any direct threats. Instead, he just danced around the issue as though Starsky would take the bait and spill the truth in front of everyone. When that didn't work, Garner left.

I lit into Fargo the minute Garner was out the door. It was just like IA to push our buttons just to see how far they could go. Fargo gave me some sob story about how much it hurt him every time a cop went bad. He urged us to just work our cases like nothing happened. His little speech only convinced me that IA was willing to bring down anyone they could in their fight for a "clean" police force.

While Garner's implication that Starsky was the vigilante didn't sit well with either of us, I suggested to Starsky that the vigilante could very well be a cop. If the vigilante killed Billings, they might be after Willits, too.

Starsky agreed and he thought that impending death may have been a good reason for Willits to contemplate jumping bail. I wanted Garner in on it, to be responsible for keeping his client where he was supposed to be, but Starsky was reluctant. He pulled over long enough to let me call Garner's office, but he wasn't in. Starsky decided to check on Willits anyway.

When we got to Willits' place, we saw him passing by in the opposite direction. We followed him until we realized he was leaving the county, in violation of his court order. We tried to pull him over, but that only forced him to bolt from the car on foot. He took a shot at us. Starsky returned fire. Starsky's a crack shot. He never misses.

I looked down at Willits' still form before turning back to Starsky. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That we just made ourselves number one suspects?"

"That's about it," I said, replacing my gun in my holster.

"No one's gonna believe we shot him in defense," Starsky said.

"Yeah," I said, bending down to check on Willits. "Even if our stories match and our reports are airtight, IA's looking for someone to blame and we just won the prize."

I examined Willits' injury.

Starsky had nailed him in the shoulder; he'd survive. A few more inches to the right and we'd have had another dead criminal on our hands. Everyone would think we were the vigilantes, with a dead body and no witnesses other than ourselves.

"Hey," I said, realizing what we had done, "what if our stories didn't match? What if Willits had been killed and our reports didn't agree?"

"What?" Starsky asked, confused.

I stared at him. "What if our reports about this shooting didn't agree? What if we spread it around that we weren't against these killings in the first place?"

He started getting the picture. "Yeah. If we set up a decent cover story, and act like we're willing to take justice into our own hands, then we might be able to smoke out the real vigilantes."

"First, we've got to convince Dobey. Then, we've gotta find a way to pretend Willits was killed."

Starsky examined Willits' injury. "He'll have to go to a hospital, but after that we could hide him somewhere."

"Who's going down for it?" he asked, looking right at me.

"Well," I said, smiling, "they're already after you. And you _did_ shoot him."

"So he wouldn't blow your head off."

I stood beside him. "You're a better bad guy undercover. I couldn't pull it off."

"My acting abilities make me the prime suspect, huh? Great," he sighed. He stared at Willits, who had started to stir. "Well, help me get him in the car. We'll take him out to Memorial and get a doctor to treat him."

"And call Dobey," I reminded him.

"Yeah, and call Dobey." He bent down to get a grasp on Willits. "Just don't let him bleed all over my car, huh?"

I called Dobey, telling him to meet us over at Memorial. I also suggested he bring along Bernie, a career uniform cop we knew well. Wherever we ended up stashing Willits, he'd need to be guarded. With the vigilantes still out there, and the real possibilities that they were brother cops, we'd need someone that we could trust implicitly. Bernie was the cop who'd found me in the alley when I was strung out on Forrest's dope. He'd never told anyone about my addiction, so I hoped we could trust him again.

Dobey was fuming when he saw us dragging Willits into the emergency room. The doctor took over care his care while we laid out our plan. We'd write up conflicting reports on Willits' shooting, Starsky saying he did it in self-defense and me refusing to corroborate that scenario. While IA was investigating, Starsky would be suspended, and we'd have time to make it look like there was a rift between us. We filed our conflicting reports before heading back to my place for the night. It would be our last night together before our undercover roles began. This private time between us was just what we needed. We could lie together for a few hours, and not worry about tomorrow. We were about to play a dangerous game, so we needed to solidify who we really were, not the personas we were about to create.

"So, we're gonna have a fight in Dobey's office?" Starsky asked as he lay beside me in bed.

"That's the plan," I said, gasping as his fingers trailed up my arm.

"We've gotta have a fight in public, too," he said, stopping him as he reached my shoulder.

I stared at him. "To make it look real?"

"Yeah. We gotta make it look like we're really at each others' throats. If we don't, they're gonna know something's up."

"What'd you have in mind?" I asked, reaching for his hand and bringing it to my lips.

"Let's go down to Millie's." He shuddered as I started sucking on his fingers, one at a time. "We can get into a fight about the reports."

"Mmmm." I pulled his fingers out of my mouth. "Make it look real good."

"I could throw a punch," he suggested, pressing his lips against mine.

I pulled back after the first kiss. "Just don't hit me too hard, okay?"

"I'll be gentle," he promised, smiling. Then he kissed me again, urging me to open my mouth.

Being gentle was a promise for tomorrow; right now I wanted him to be as urgent and rough as he needed. And he was, totally, immediately, giving me everything I needed. His kisses turned more urgent, his desire growing more evident. When he entered me, it wasn't tomorrow we were thinking about, it was right now. Whatever we pretended to be out there, this was who we were at the core. Partners, lovers, friends. Nothing else was real; nothing else could enter into it.

The next morning, we were greeted with the front page of the local paper screaming about vigilante cops in our midst. Starsky promised to use the paper to play up his angle.

When we went into Dobey's office for the showdown with Fargo, Starsky ranted about the front page. He almost convinced me that his shock about our differing reports was real. It hurt me to see him storm out of there like I had destroyed our partnership. He gave up his shield and gun, and I gave up my partner, at least until this case was over.

I waited a while before heading over to Millie's, giving Starsky time to really work himself into his undercover persona. The fight went like we planned, but Starsky didn't pull his punch, so I ended up sprawled across a back table, the taste of blood in my mouth. He made it look real all right, too real. I'd have a sore jaw and a busted lip for the rest of the day. When Starsky showed up at his apartment, where Dobey and I were hiding Willits, he had a girl in the car. She was a friend of Millie's but her name was not Ginger, as she had told Starsky. All I could remember was that she was picked up about four years ago. Maybe I could make a positive identification later.

He was about to go out the door with his bottle of wine when I stopped him. I complained about him hitting me, but he insisted he'd just wanted to make it look real. Oh, it was real all right. With a parting word of warning from Dobey, he was gone.

I went into the bedroom to check on Willits; he was sitting up, complaining as usual, so I knew he was doing just fine. We'd found another uniform we could trust to guard Willits, so Dobey and I headed back to the station to try to get a lead on the girl. The pieces started fitting when I pulled her file. Her real name was Alice K. Conrad. She had been charged with felony bunko, but had her charge reduced by none other than Lieutenant Fargo.

That was the first red flag. The second one was when Fargo asked me directly about Ginger when he left Dobey's office. There was no way he could've known she was using that name, unless Dobey had revealed it to him--or if he already knew about Ginger because he was involved. If Fargo was involved in any way with the vigilantes, Dobey had just let him know that Starsky was working undercover. Without realizing it, the captain had signed Starsky's death warrant.

I had trouble convincing Dobey about my concerns; Fargo had one of the cleanest histories in the department. He and Dobey went back for years. But when Dobey called to ask Fargo how he'd known Ginger's name, he wasn't in his office.

We had to get to Starsky and fast. He was serious danger.

There only person who might know where Starsky was, was Ginger. She tried to stonewall us, but we could charge her as an accomplice, and she didn't want any part of a murder rap. She agreed to cooperate in return for a reduced sentence.

We called for backup and arrived in the middle of a shootout.

We learned later that Knight, and the other vigilante cops that called themselves "The Committee," had ordered Starsky to shoot the lawyer, Garner, as proof that he was on their side. Starsky tried stalling, but then Fargo showed up and blew his cover wide open. That stupid pet rock of his might have saved Starsky's life when he threw it to disorient Fargo. So, I could understand him wanting to find it again, while we were cuffing the suspects and taking care of Garner.

The next day Ginger signed her statement, but she seemed more grateful than Garner. While he did acknowledge that our good police work had exposed the guilty cops, he never so much as gave Starsky a nod for saving his life.

Dobey told us we shouldn's expect praise just for doing our jobs; that's what we were _supposed_ to do. But even while he was saying that in one breath, he was pulling out a recommendation for Medals of Valor at the same time. That was something we could both be proud of, and we were both surprised by his actions. The Medal of Valor was a rare honor.

 

 

We headed down to the locker room to pick up my shirt from my locker. Taking down crooked cops was never easy, but it was something that had to be done for the good of the force. Vigilante justice was often seen as an easy answer, but it was never the right answer. However, not all our fellow cops agreed with our actions.

"It's a rock," I said to Starsky I pushed open the locker room door. I could hear the shower running.

"Yeah, but it's a pet, too."

"What kind of pet? It doesn't do any tricks, doesn't eat, doesn't breathe," I said, going to my locker.

"It can fly," he joked. "And besides, there are no food bills for a rock."

"Yeah," I laughed, pulling out my shirt. "Good thing, since you rack up enough for yourself."

"Hey!"

"I'm joking, I'm joking." I closed the locker door. The shower had stopped and I could hear someone coming out.

"You better be," he teased. "Because I had something nice planned for tonight. A little candlelight, music, and my special beef roast with mashed potatoes. But if you're gonna be mean about it, I'll just eat by myself."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" a loud voice said. It was Frank Henderson, a beat cop that had been trying to get off the streets for three years. But he was either too lazy or too stupid to do anything above and beyond the bare minimum the job required. We turned to him in surprise. He was still dripping from his shower, a towel tied around his ample waist.

"What's your problem, Henderson?" Starsky asked, not intimidated by the man's superior height.

"My problem is you two," he growled, going to his own locker. "Playing house."

That shut both of us up long enough for Henderson to continue his attack. "I bet Dobey gave you a pat on the back for taking down Fargo and the rest of those good cops, huh?"

"What's it to you?" I pushed.

He turned around. "It's nothing to me. You can take down half the force if you want to. You're so far into each _other's_ pockets, you wouldn't know if the city collapsed around you." Henderson turned back to his locker, yanking out his change of clothes. "That's where those guys went wrong. They should've known that you two would _never_ have a _lover's_ spat. And even if you did, you'd kiss and make up before the day was over."

"Maybe you should give it a rest, Henderson," Starsky said, not putting much heat in his words.

"Yeah, maybe I should. Wouldn't want to keep you from your little make-out session. Candle-lit dinners..."

"Screw you, Henderson," Starsky warned, suddenly angry.

"You start making accusations like that, you'll be lucky if you keep your job," I told Henderson.

"I ain't saying nothing that half the force hasn't said before," he pointed out, smirking. "You think taking down tough cops is gonna make us forget how you two really are? I'm not out to make you feel better."

"Re-arranging your face would make me feel better," Starsky warned, lunging forwards.

I grabbed him and hustled him out of there before things escalated. We knew we had to blow him off, but it bothered both of us anyway.

I thought it hadn't affected us. I mean, I didn't let it get to me, but it started to wear on Starsky right away. First, when we were in the car, he didn't want me to put my hand behind his headrest. Next it was his hesitation as we entered his apartment. Then soon it was the dinner. Suddenly, he didn't feel like cooking.

Then it got serious when I tried to separate the outside world from our private one.

"You're too tense," I said, reaching out to rub his shoulders.

He pulled away.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," he mumbled, retreating towards the bedroom.

I followed him. "You wanna go to bed, then?"

"Is that all you ever think about?" he shot back.

"What, sleeping? Only when I'm tired," I teased, trying to ease the situation.

"You don't even care what they think, do you?"

"Henderson?"

"Him and the rest of the force, apparently," Starsky said.

"Who cares what idiots like Henderson think? You never did before."

"Yeah, but before they weren't telling the truth," he pointed out.

I looked at him, confused. "What truth? He was trying to get to us."

"He was seeing what everyone else does; that we're too close."

"He's blowing smoke is what he's doing," I said, moving nearer. "He was trying to get a reaction and you caved."

"But we're giving off vibes."

"What, we're suddenly wearing big neon signs that say we're sleeping together?" I joked. "Come on, Starsk, he was just pushing your buttons."

He sighed. "We're playing too fast and loose."

"Come on," I said, reaching out to him. "Come to bed and rest. You're thinking too much."

He pulled away from me. "I'm...I'm gonna go sleep on the couch." He stared at me. "You take the bed."

"Starsky..."

"Take the bed," he said, more urgently. "I can't do this right now."

He left the bedroom. I could hear him taking sheets and bedding out of the closet. He needed space, but I was angry over the power Henderson suddenly had over us. And I was mad that Starsky let him have that power. Starsky still let people cut into him, too close and too hard.

I was still mad the next morning when we headed to work.

When the woman at the fashion show made a comment about Starsky being cute, I snapped my disagreement a little too quickly. I thought a practical joke might help vent my displeasure, so when the opportunity presented itself, I took it. I sent Starsky alone into a Hispanic bar, knowing full well that he knew next to no Spanish and that he could possibly get roughed up. I wasn't going to let him get really hurt, but maybe I was hoping a tussle might knock some sense into him.

I forgot that when Starsky's pushed, he pushes back.

I played a joke on him, so he got back at me by taking a lovely fashion model out to dinner. He left me alone with the man who'd helped us on our latest case, Agent Pablo Ortega, while he wined and dined that vivacious young woman, like it was no big deal.

They came back to my apartment just so Starsky could gloat over his fancy night out. Well, she gushed and he gloated. Starsky wanted to make sure Ortega saw him in action. He was trying hard to ensure that his image hadn't been injured by Henderson or his cronies. He was trying so hard that he was running away from what made us so good together.

The case with Sue Anne Granger, the country western singer, helped get us back on track, though. My wardrobe was happy about the reconciliation. I only wore that poncho to the bar the first night to get him mad. I knew he'd hate it, which is exactly why I wore it. Little digs, little things, to chip away until one of us destroyed the other or gave in, defeated. But we never gave in; we never would accept defeat, which was exactly why our fights never ended with a clear winner. Separation never did us any good, just made us both miserable.

We worked the case and struggled to get back into the groove. The tennis match we had while waiting for our threatening phone caller to pick up the money drop was actually good for us. Our competitiveness belonged on the court, not off it.

After seeing Starsky shining with so much pride and enthusiasm when I went up on stage to sing just a few days later, I couldn't stay mad. Even when I chased him out of the bar for singing my lines and wrecking my timing, I couldn't hate him.

He was my partner. He loved me. We just had to let that be more important than what the outside world wanted to believe about us.

A few days later, he beamed with pride when I got a bit role in Western we were working undercover on. It was only one line, but he reacted as though I carried the whole movie.

~~~

A few days on regular duty and we were back to what passed for normal between us. Word on the street was that Oscar Newton, a small time hood, had the goods on the latest case we were working on, so we went by his place to question him. It was a wasted trip. We got nothing, no viable information, no pay-off. We headed back to the station to file some reports.

Starsky kept trying to set me up on a double date with some girl he had met at a bar. It was all for fun, just to go out and have a good time, but I trusted his choice in women about as much as his choice in food. And I didn't want to get stuck entertaining either a searing hot taco or a boring girl all night long.

He finally stopped asking when Dobey called us into his office.

Chief Ryan was waiting for us. We weren't exactly on his top ten list, not since the Academy graduation we'd been asked to address. It seems we were a little too honest with the recruits. Ever since then, Chief Ryan started watching us a little too closely.

Now, he was after us again. He asked us if we knew Oscar Newton. We admitted we did, and told him about the meeting we had. Then he asked about the exact time we'd seen him. Something was definitely up, but we kept playing it by the book until we found out what. I went to get my notebook so I could give him the exact times: 2:55-3:10 PM.

The chief wasn't satisfied with that response. Then he told us. Oscar had been seriously worked over and we were at the top of the list of suspects. He already had two witnesses that had named us. Witnesses can lie, or be mistaken, but the chief wasn't listening to that.

We left to question them ourselves.

Mrs. Marlowe worked across the street from Oscar's building, at the Cozy Corner Café, the neighborhood diner. She was very agitated, and wouldn't listen to us. She insisted that she knew we were the ones who'd attacked Oscar, because we didn't leave until her program, the Edge of Night, went off at 3:30PM, and Starsky's noisy car had disturbed her viewing.

Mr. Atkins, the other witness, was Oscar's neighbor. He was too afraid of us to do us any good. Atkins was even willing to change his story to cover for us, something we would've never asked any witness to do.

So, now we had two different witnesses, and no idea why they would lie about us.

We had another on a call about 1238 Devin, because the neighbors were complaining. We knew that would be about Nikki's place. Nikki Stephens was a mid-priced madam running a string of girls out of suburban rental homes. She was constantly on the move, but she liked the suburban location too much to want to change. Whenever the local neighbors finally figured out what was going on next door, they'd start complaining about the traffic and the men going in and out at all hours, hoping to harass the prostitution ring out of their neighborhood. It wasn't the first time we'd had to stop in at Nikki's. When we asked her this time to move her operation, she acted really odd towards us. She said that word on the street was that we'd finally gone crooked. She wanted to know if she could pay us off for a little protection. We assured her that the rumors of our being on the take were flat-out wrong. She accepted the information graciously. Nikki wasn't a bad person; she was just in the wrong line of work.

We spent that night together, both of us confused and stressed by these sudden rumors about our being on the take, and the witnesses ready to name us in a police brutality charge. Starsky was still pulling back, not wanting to get heavy yet, but it was getting better. We spent the time just hanging out and sleeping, but that was all I needed at the moment. Just knowing Starsky was around and would be around for me was enough right now.

We decided to meet at my place the next night so I could make dinner, just the two of us. We were slowly working our way back to what we were before. On the streets, we were in sync, and in private we were almost back to that again.

We patrolled the streets during the morning; checking out leads on our phantom assailants. Nothing came of it, so we headed in. When we got to the station, we were surprised to see Nikki. She had been roughed up badly and had already lodged a complaint that we had done it. Why would she lie like that? Somebody had to have leaned hard on her if she was making up stories against us.

With her complaint, on top of the other two witnesses that had lied about us, Chief Ryan was ready to have us resign. He wouldn't even listen to our side of it, when we insisted that Nikki had been fine when we left her.

This didn't looking good for us. It didn't help that Starsky was convinced that Ryan was in on the whole set-up. I didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was mounting.

Starsky got called over to the DA's office later that morning to discuss the details of his flasher court case with Sharon Freemont, the assistant DA that would take the state's side in the case. That meant we had to postpone working on our own problem until later. Starsky said he'd come over to my apartment after he finished with her, like he promised yesterday.

So, without any leads to follow up, I headed home to start dinner. Traffic was heavier than usual, so I didn't get there until late. Fifi, my part-time housekeeper, was there, unfortunately. I could only afford to pay her for one day a week, but she had a serious crush on me, so she was more than happy to work for free. Good for her, bad for me. I never knew when I find her in my place fondling my laundry.

She told me that Starsky had come by earlier and had left me an envelope by the door. She hadn't talked to him, just saw him through the window when she was cleaning. Since I'd just left Starsky, and he'd been with me the rest of the day, it wasn't really possible that he could've shown up here when she claimed to have seen him. But she insisted it was him: same haircut, same garish car.

When I looked into the envelope, that's when I got the _real_ surprise. It was packed with money, lots of money. Not something Starsky would have lying around.

I managed to hustle Fifi out the door after that. I needed to concentrate on what this all meant. I called Starsky at Sharon's office and told him to come over right away, that we had a problem. He must've heard the urgency in my voice, because he joined me soon enough.

"What's the problem?" he asked, coming through the door.

"We're getting set up is the problem," I said from the couch. "You didn't come over here before?"

"I told you I'd be over here later, so why would I come twice?" He came to sit on the couch.

I reached for the envelope on the coffee table. "You didn't drop off this envelope?"

"That's what mailmen are for," he said, sounding irritated. "What's all this about?"

I opened the envelope so he could see the contents. "It's about a $10,000 problem we just inherited."

"Where'd you get that?" He sat up a lot straighter.

"According to Fifi," I said, replacing the envelope on the table, "_you _brought it over here and left it by the door for me."

"What? You know I didn't. Besides, where would I get money like that from? She's wrong."

"There's a lot of witnesses seeing us where we're not."

"We should go run the prints, see if we can lift anything," he suggested.

"Dobey's gotta know," I pointed out.

"He's gonna know anyway if IA starts coming after us."

So, we went to the station and turned the money over to Dobey. The captain trusted us. He had to, since he always seemed to be sticking his neck out to prove us right. The only prints on the envelope were mine; the money was part of the missing $300,000 from the Mandalay Heights case. We had to find out who was setting us up.

Saturday was another dead end. We called Sharon to check out our past cases, see if anybody would be vengeful enough to plot against us like this. We couldn't turn over any information on the streets. And when we got to the station, Sharon came by with more bad news. There weren't any cases that she could find where our testimony was important enough for all this to be happening.

When we saw Dobey in the squad room, he was pleased to report that the witnesses against us were starting to wash out. That didn't change the fact that they'd lied in the first place, and that somebody was still setting us up. We still had to figure out who.

We went out on patrol, hoping to track down some new leads. Before long, we got a call to meet Chief Ryan at a massage parlor on the strip. A woman there had been roughed up by us, she claimed, and another witness insisted that Starsky had bumped into him on the way out and threatened him. Starsky pointed out that the imposters were now getting ahead of us, since this was the first time they'd struck a location where we'd never been before.

Ryan didn't want to hear it. He had two new, good witnesses. This time, he put us on suspension.

Whether we were on duty or not, we weren't going to let anyone set us up and get away with it. Oscar was still a good lead. He had to have seen the guys who beat him up so badly; he had to have gotten a closer look at them than anyone else. If we could find out who did that to him, we'd be closer to catching them.

We went to the hospital as a couple of Oscar's bowling buddies, and tried to suck up to the desk nurse so that we could get in to see him. When she found out who we were there to see, though, she told us the worst news she could have. Oscar had passed away around 9PM.

It was bad enough that we lost our best witness, but now we were in danger of being charged with murder. That was a lot more serious than just losing our careers.

It was time to take desperate measures. On Sunday morning, Dobey was out on the golf course with Chief Ryan. We used that opportunity to get into the chief's office and search it. It took us a while to figure out how to get in without being noticed. We did the only logical thing. We dressed up as janitors and picked the lock on his door.

We figured that Ryan had to know the girl at the massage parlor, Judith Coppett, because her file was laying right out on his desk. If we could get her to admit that Ryan had asked her to frame us, we would have a strong lead, and the rest of the case might start to unravel.

Starsky called Sharon from Ryan's phone, and got her working on getting immunity for Judith in exchange for her testimony. Unfortunately, Ryan and Dobey showed up before we could discover any other connection. While Dobey had been willing to support us, and had even tried to keep Ryan on the golf course and away from his office, he was less than willing to believe that the Chief of Police could actually be setting us up.

We actually were wrong to suspect him, despite all the evidence, because the chief himself had already found out the truth.

Someone close to us _was_ behind it all, but it wasn't Chief Ryan. It was Sharon, the assistant DA. Desperate to get her career boosted, she'd thought if she could get us out of the way, the indecent exposure case against Starsky's simple flasher complaint would get settled out of court, and she would reap the rewards of an early legal partnership from the kid's father, who ran a prestigious firm.

Sharon was so serious about her ambition, she'd already cost one man his life, and now she'd set her duplicate "Starsky and Hutch" team on Judith Coppett. We ran out of Ryan's office to stop Judith's murder, a crime that we unknowingly had set up.

Dispatch was utterly confused when we put out an ABP on Starsky's Torino--the other Torino. We finally caught the imposters, each of us taking down our own evil twin. The uniforms showed up right after us and tried to insist that those guys really looked like us.

One of the cops insisted that the blond imposter that was supposed to me looked like he could be my brother. I informed him coolly, that I didn't have a brother. At least, I didn't have one _now_.

"He didn't mean anything by it," Starsky said as we were driving back home.

"Huh?"

"The uniform, he didn't mean anything when he said that the guy looked like your brother."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I know."

"Still hurts though, huh?" he asked, reaching over and squeezing my knee.

"Yeah, I admitted. "Still hurts. I miss Jake."

"I know you do," he said. "But it's okay to remember. Doesn't have hurt all the time."

"Can you..." I glanced over at him. "Can we be together tonight, please?"

He looked over at me. "Of course."

He'd care for me, and love me because I needed him to. That's what he did; he loved me no matter what. No matter how many times I needed him to be there, he was. All I had to do was ask. All either of us had to do was ask, and we'd be together, safe with one another.


	3. A TIME OF DESIRE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know what? Forget it. Forget all of this. I'm tired of falling right back into this sick little game you play. You pretend you want me and then you turn around and destroy me."

Our "vacation" to Playboy Island was something I'd like to block out for the rest of my life. Really, the less said about it the better. There were forces controlling us on that island that couldn't be contained there. Starsky tried to kill me! I know it wasn't his fault, but, after that, when he tried to touch me I would pull away. No strings attached, right? So why should I regret it if I didn't want anyone else pulling my strings?

As soon as we returned we were put on stakeout as backup for another undercover cop, Linda Baylor. She was trying to make a connection with a local dealer, so it wasn't like we had tons to do but sit in the car all day and keep our eyes opened. Starsky tried to bring up the incident on the island again and again, but every apology he made did nothing to make me forget. There was nothing really to forgive; he was being controlled by Papa Theodore...but how could I make myself forget?

Maybe it was the drugs affecting my reactions, too. Losing so much of myself after the first time with Forrest, those were memories I didn't want to revisit. Whenever Starsky talked about the island, that's what he was doing: he was bringing up the bad memories again. I just wanted to forget. I needed to set myself free from Starsky, at least for a little while.

Maybe that's why Diana seemed like a good idea. I thought she was a no-strings-attached girl.

I met her when I had to get my hand stitched up. Running down the purse-snatcher on Linda's case, I cut my hand on a fence post. It wasn't a huge cut, only five stitches, but I was milking as much sympathy from Starsky as I could manage. I certainly wasn't getting much sympathy from the doctor. He came in and treated me as if nothing were wrong.

Diana came in afterward to give me my tetanus shot. She was very sweet and caring, just what you'd expect from a nurse. My falling all over her like that was Starsky's fault. When I dragged him to Sullivan's bar for the evening's entertainment, he complained about it. When Diana happened to walk in the door, he literally pushed me to go talk to her. He wasn't even upset when I abandoned him to go to dinner with her instead. The signs of what was building up with her didn't occur to me until it was too late. I just wanted to have good time, a little roll in the hay to separate myself from what happened on the island. She was my chance to forget, but using one relationship to resolve the problems of another one never turns out right.

First, she admitted to following me, but I thought that was kind of cute. Then she broke into my apartment to make me dinner. I got angry with her for that. But wasn't that what I wanted? Someone to help me forget the memories and just love me?

I saw the strings she wanted to tie on me, and started to pull away.

When Kathy, one of our favorite stewardess "dates," showed up for a sudden twelve-hour layover, Starsky invited all four of us out to Chinese dinner and dancing afterwards. That's when I realized that I had saddled myself with someone who was taking away what I really wanted and needed. Kathy was the perfect remedy; she was someone who could flow in and out of our lives without asking for too much. In fact, she was our perfect cover for sleeping with each other, since our dates with her often ended up in threesomes. Kathy was who I wanted, not Diana, but I was stuck with the one I'd brought.

Later that same night, when I finally dropped Diana off at her place, she yelled at me, demanding I be something I wasn't. What I felt for her wasn't a forever kind of love; it wasn't _even_ love. It was nothing more than a right-now, right-here reaction. I had done it before, and I would probably do it again.

She was not ready to deal with something so final.

She called me again that night, apologizing for her behavior and insisting I meet her the next night.

When I told Starsky about that when we were on stakeout in the car the next day, he was all for it. Invite her over and read her the riot act, he said. Cut all ties with her, clean and simple. Make her understand that this was _not_ a relationship, in any way. What Starsky and I had, _that_ was a relationship. What Kathy had with us, that was a fling. What Diana and I had was nothing more than a good lay followed with bad vibes.

That night, when we were seriously delayed by work, I attempted to call her and apologize, but I couldn't get through to her. Linda had her meeting with the connection set up for tomorrow, so we were done for the day. After dropping her off, we went patrolling to take our minds off some things. Everything seems much clearer when you're driving. By the time we got back to the station, I was feeling a lot better about Diana. That was, until she attacked me in the hallway. She attacked both of us, really, Starsk and me, yelling at us and hitting us and basically slandering my name for treating her like I've treated countless girls before. But she really wasn't like the other girls, since her connection to sanity was thin at best. Engraving that expensive watch, 'Forever, Diana,' to give to someone she'd only known a few days was over the edge.

The destruction of my apartment was over the cliff and down the mountain. She was dangerous, but what was more dangerous was that Starsky wouldn't listen to my reasoning. It wasn't that she broke my guitar that was important; it was the fact that when I went over to Starsky's place to find solace, I didn't get it. He never gave women the credit they deserved. They could be just as deadly as men, but Starsky insisted she'd worked out her anger and would move on. He was giving that stupid model ship more attention than he was giving me lately. It was almost like he pitied me when he took me to bed and promised to help clean up my place the next morning.

Even after Linda was attacked, he wouldn't see how much trouble I was in. He sent me to my half-cleaned home, told me to get some rest, and went back to work. But she was already there, waiting for me. I was beginning to feel safe, locked inside my apartment, but one knife slashing through the shower curtain destroyed all that.

When it all ended, though, Starsky was there to save me. He was there to take me into his arms and try to undo all the damage she had done. Starsky took me to his place to help me get better, to help me feel loved again, to make me realize that he was sorry for doubting me.

Together, we replaced my broken brass bed. It wasn't a closing of one chapter and a beginning of another, like after my addiction. This was more like erasing the bad things that happened and continuing with the good. Every night we slept in the new bed together, sometimes making love and sometimes just being together. With him there, in the apartment, I could forget all the things Diana had destroyed.

We visited Linda every night she was in the hospital, just relaxing and being ourselves again. My arm was healing and my memories of the bad times were fading. I had even gotten Starsky to come out jogging with me in the mornings, guilting him into aiding my recovery through his own exercise. We were even working on a new case, a big case that would take down the Malone syndicate. We had made two busts and were working our way towards bringing down Frank Malone himself. We were in a routine, working together and living together like we were supposed to.

We went out jogging at seven, like always, but this one morning there was a girl going by that Starsky tried to work his charms on, but failed miserably. I teased him about it, probably too much. One thing Starsky does not want to hear is the fact that he couldn't hold onto a lady. It was a threat to his masculinity.

I should have realized the way it would go when we found out the truth about her. She was Rosey Malone, Frank Malone's daughter, and our link to breaking the case wide open. The Justice Department wanted one of us to make a connection with her. Figuring Starsky had already missed his chance, they asked me to fill in. But suggesting to Starsky that he was not up to the job-especially when it came to dealing with a woman, combined with all the time he'd been spending with me and only me-pushed him to take her on.

Dobey excused us for the rest of the day so Starsky could get ready for his undercover assignment.

He wouldn't talk about it in the car, and didn't really want to talk about it when we got back to my place, but I pushed him on it. This was too big a deal to let him rush into without planning.

Trapping him in the kitchen was the only way I could get him to stay in one place long enough to listen.

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"Getting a drink, what's it look like?" He leaned into the open refrigerator and pulled out a beer.

"I'm not talking about that; I'm talking about the case," I said, not really in the mood to play games.

"Oh, that. I'm going to get in with Malone's daughter like we said." He took a swig of beer. "What's the problem?"

"What's the problem?" I gritted out. "The problem is you're going into this like it's some popularity contest and you just beat me out for the prize."

"No," he said as he moved past me. "I'm doing my job and working our case."

I followed him into the living room. "What are you trying to prove, Starsk?"

"Nothing," he sighed, sinking into the couch. "I'm not trying to prove nothing. I'm doing my job and getting paid, that's all."

"What kind of in can you have with her? You hardly know her." I sat down in the chair beside him.

"She likes Mexican art and pottery," he pointed out. "That's my in."

"She also blew you off this morning."

"Because she wanted to be alone," he said, taking another swallow of beer.

"And because you didn't."

That cut deeper than I wanted it to. He looked at me, pondering what I said and what I meant, before reacting. "You think I'm doing this to get away from you?"

"Good a reason as any, don't you think?"

"I'm doing my job!" he yelled.

"You're competing!" I shot back.

"I'm not competing, I'm going under!"

"And there's a difference?" I asked.

"To me there is." He sat the beer down on the table. "Besides, no one said anything about having to love her. I'm in, I'm out, no harm done."

"No harm?" I snorted.

"No harm," he repeated, getting off the couch and coming to lean down in front of me. "What we have is different than anything we do undercover. You know that."

"I'm trying to believe that, but I just think this is a bad idea."

"Look, there's nothing to be worried about. We'll get Frank Malone, tie this thing up, and be done with the whole mess in no time."

And that was supposed to make it all better.

We slept together that night, held each other, and promised ourselves that what was going to happen wasn't going to be real. Undercover meant playing a role, being someone you're not, but I knew my partner and how far into a role he could get. He became the person he was pretending to be; so much that neither could be separated.

He left my bed the next morning to go running to her, literally. I didn't see him the whole day and he didn't answer my repeated phone calls into the night. He was on a case. Maybe this wasn't real, but could I separate the actions of the case from the actions of the man?

When he came to the station the next day, I was almost ready to accept that he was just working the case and not falling for her. I was willing to accept that lie up until he admitted that there was something very special about Rosey. That hurt more than anything because I knew that my partner and the role he had taken on had become one and the same, just as I feared.

I kept after him when we were going out on a call, but he wasn't willing to listen to reason. He even told me, "Don't do that girlfriend number on me." Because that was what I was, his girlfriend on the side. He wanted to have his fun and not listen to how much it was hurting me.

After busting the mobster, Shelby, Frank Malone's main rival, Starsky went out to lunch with Rosey and didn't come back. All afternoon and night I waited, wondering if he was going to come back, but he never did. When Dobey asked me the next morning where my partner was, I had to say I didn't know. Technically, I didn't. He was somewhere between his bed and hers, but neither of those places were welcoming to me.

I went out to find him, though, hoping that I could talk some sense into him before it was too late. I even stopped by Rosey's store, but I was evasive about who I was. When I finally found him, he was at his own apartment and in a mood.

Frank Malone had found out Starsky was a cop and told his daughter she was being used. Because he'd been made, he blew up at the nearest person he could find, namely me.

I yelled back at him that he was a _cop_ on a case, but that didn't matter to him. He had fallen in love, again, and asking him to stop wasn't going to make it happen. He sent me back to the station, alone, and promised he'd show up later.

I knew where he was going. I knew he'd go over to Rosey's, and try to make it work with her. But I'd have to help him, save him, even if it meant I was sending him right back into her arms. He was my partner and what he wanted meant more than what I needed.

When he came to the station, we had it out with the attorneys. It was becoming clearer that he was being set-up. I had to find out who was behind it. So, yes, I sent him back to Rosey while I worked the case. It kept my mind off of the truth, that he could love her and want her a whole lot easier than he could commit himself to me alone. If Frank hadn't taken Rosey away with him, Starsky might have continued on with her. It was something I would never know for sure, and didn't want to. She had left; I was still here. Wasn't that the way to win the game? Be the last one standing when everyone else ran away?

I never ran away. I just threw myself into work.

Sending us undercover at Cabrillo State wasn't just an accident; I requested it. I needed to feel like I had some power, some control, in the situation. I had some medical knowledge, true, but playing an orderly meant I could there to take care of him, make him need me again. For survival, I was his link to the outside world.

Undercover wasn't real, but it made me feel like what he wanted was real.

I suggested that Starsky go under as a patient that was committed for being something other than crazy. Leave it to Starsky to come up with the idea that Mr. Rudy Skylar was a diagnosed sex maniac. Undercover wasn't real, but it certainly allowed some truths to come out, didn't it?

Starsky came into the hospital a week after I did, so it wouldn't raise suspicion. There were all kinds of disturbed people in that place and I was beginning to question my own sanity before he got there. That week alone made me realize that I needed him just as much as he needed me, that we kept each other sane.

We were sent in to Cabrillo to find out about some mysterious deaths among the patients. Two deaths were by hanging and two by suffocation; all had been ruled suicides. It was looking like an inside job, but why kill patients? What was being covered up? Drugs, illegal psychotherapy, and a warehouse full of ready-made lab rats available to the head doctor. He was fond of shock therapy and even had Starsky put on the schedule. That was when I was ready to pull the plug, but Starsky was determined to see it through. The force had put too much energy and too many hours into getting us in there with solid covers, so he wasn't about to blow it on a threat, even a threat to himself.

He was trying not to show it, but he was scared out of his mind. He hung onto me like I was his one hope. I had to keep him safe. I tried, but I felt like I failed in the long run. I was drugged, useless when it came to the final showdown. Starsky had to fend for himself and make sure I was okay, too. My one downfall, the weakness that destroyed me time and again, my sensitivity to narcotics.

But Starsky was my ultimate weakness, the one thing that could cut into me and destroy me, yet love me at the same time.

The day that the last thread of my fantasy life was broken was the day that we found John Blaine dead at the St. Francis Hotel. Starsky went to question the medical examiner about the body and I questioned the witnesses, a couple of hookers and the manager.

John had been a good man, a good cop that we both respected, and the one person Starsky looked up to unquestioningly. He was also a closeted gay with a wife for cover. The manager said that John had been in the same hotel room for the past year, with the same guy up until six months ago. One of the hookers saw him stumble in with a male trick right before he died.

That part of his life was something no one had known about, no one could have known about, but it was a fact that had to be added into the grand scheme of things. What hurt worse was having to go over to Maggie Blaine's house and tell her that her husband had been having an affair with a man, that he was gay, and that she wasn't the only person in his life even on the day he died.

But Maggie knew. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew. I was sure that this would be a shock to her, but after some initial denial she admitted that she was aware of John's secret life. She even knew who he had been having an affair with, Peter Whitelaw. How can one woman carry that knowledge with her for twenty-two years and still put on the face of a loving wife who seemed unaffected by her husband's infidelity? Still, she insisted to Starsky that Blaine was a good man, a good cop, as if she had to keep his memory clean in the eyes of young David Starsky, adopted son. It would take more than Maggie's words.

It would probably take more than just mine, too, but I had to try. So when we got back in the car and headed over to Whitelaw's office, I confronted the issue head-on.

"His being gay doesn't change any of the other things he was. How would you have felt if he would have told you?"

He didn't respond, but his expression left no doubt about what he was feeling. Disgust, anger, sadness, and loss were all brewing inside him. He had to take this new image of John and combine it with the old image he'd had all those years.

"That's probably why he stayed in the closet," I continued. And that's probably why I would be forced to, also. Starsky's hero was gay, his partner was gay, and he was in denial over all of it because he couldn't admit to himself that what we had between us would label him as gay, too.

We did our connect-the-dots investigation from Whitelaw to Nick Hunter all the way up to Lt. Corday of Narcotics. John had been killed because of a drug cover-up. It was just his bad luck that his secret was revealed because of where he was killed.

Dobey didn't want theories, though, he wanted hard facts. We'd have to disappear for twenty-four hours and get Corday cold. We had to set him up and use Nick as bait, but first we had to track Nick Hunter down. Sugar would know exactly where Nick was. Nick was probably even hiding at Sugar's place. So that meant we needed to find Sugar.

Where do you go when you need to find somebody? Straight to Huggy.

"Which one of us is going under?" Starsky asked as we drove.

"What?" I looked over at him.

"Who's going under?" he asked again. "At the Green Parrot, who's going under?"

"Me, why?"

"Just like that?" There was an edge in his voice, but his eyes never left the road.

"What do you mean, just like that?" I was confused to say the least.

"Huggy and one of us has to go under in a gay bar, together, and you act like it's no big deal. We didn't even talk about it."

"Do you want to go under instead?" I asked.

"No, not really," he admitted.

"Then what's there to talk about?"

"It's just..." He glanced over at me. "It's a gay bar and people are gonna look at you like..."

"Like what?" I cut him off. "Like I'm gay? I've got news for you: this thing we have between us doesn't exactly make us two _straight_ guys."

"Hutch, we're not like John," he insisted.

"We're exactly like John!" I yelled. "What do you call this relationship we have?"

"Need, want, I don't know," he sighed.

"But it's never about love is it?" I asked, hurt by what he was admitting.

He glanced over at me. "You know I love you."

"So why do you always go out of your way to prove you don't?"

"Because...because we're not supposed to."

"So you're willing to deny a part of yourself because you're not supposed to feel that way?"

"Look what happened to John because of who he loved," Starsky said. "I don't want to end up like that."

"He lived in the closet," I pointed out.

"That's right," he said, turning the corner. "What kind of a life is that?"

"One I'm willing to try."

He looked over at me. "That's the problem. You're willing to try, but I'm not even sure if there's anything to try for." He stopped the car and pointed out the window. "There's Huggy, let's go." With that, he got out of the car and ended our conversation. He was focused on the case and didn't want to get into the whole situation right then and there. Typically, he left me hanging again, running away from what we needed to say. I got out of the car and followed him over to the curb.

Huggy was registering voters out on the street corner, running a clean game from what it looked like. Starsky wouldn't broach the conversation from the car again, he just stuck to the details of the case.

Huggy knew Sugar's address right off the top of his head. Why, was a question for another time, though. Right now we had to go find Sugar and avoid talking about anything else. We didn't go near the topic again, both of us too afraid to say another thing that would shove the knife in deeper.

Nick was willing to play decoy to catch Corday. We'd set it up so Starsky was on lookout while Huggy and I played the inside. Nick and Sugar would come in and head back to the dressing room and draw Corday out. It was a good plan, a simple plan, but something that Starsky didn't grasp the full concept of. I made him drop me off at my place so I could get ready, still hurt over his cold admission. Right then, I wasn't even sure who he was, much less why I wanted him to stay around.

 

 

Huggy and I met at the bar and went in to get a drink while we waited for the set-up. It was good to have time alone with Huggy, to sort things out a little better. We got a table near the back so I could get a clear view in case something went down before Starsky was in place. We'd downed half our drinks before the conversation turned to the inevitable. He already knew, just by looking at me, that the weight on my mind was less about the case and more about my partner. Huggy sat watching me, as if trying to consider what to say. He was working up to something, but I never would have guessed what it was.

"I remember the first time I had sex with a guy," Huggy said without warning. "Well, more like a kid really." He took a swallow of his drink, staring into it as if gathering his thoughts. Soon he gazed back at me. "I was seventeen and so was he. White boy from the neighborhood. You run the streets long enough you do things you never really thought you'd do, need people you never really thought you'd need. It wasn't about experimentation, though. It was all about love and want and sex." He paused, letting a ghost of a smile cross his lips. "Interracial, homosexual coupling, doomed from the start. We knew it couldn't last past tomorrow, but that night tomorrow didn't matter. It was more about making each other feel good and making sure we knew there was at least one other person in the world who cared."

I knew it shouldn't have been my first thought, knew he wasn't talking about us, but the look on my face gave it away.

"Don't worry," he said, twirling his glass on the table as he stared at it. "That white boy wasn't Starsky. He knew the kid, though. We all ran together when we were young. Starsky was too tough to let anybody love him like that." He glanced back up at me, smiling. "Well, he used to be. But that was before you."

"I think he's still too tough," I admitted. "He keeps running away."

"As long as you've known him, this is suddenly a surprise?" Huggy asked. "The man has two reactions: put up a fight or run away from it all."

"I know," I admitted softly, staring into my glass. "I just thought he'd stick around to put up more of a fight."

"Hey," Huggy soothed, reaching across to lay his hand on my own. "Starsky's just a little scared is all. Give him time; he'll come around. You've gone this far, haven't you?"

"Yeah," I agreed, looking back up. "But what if I was pushing him into it?"

Huggy pulled his hand back to his own glass. "Number one, Starsky's never gonna do something he doesn't want to do, especially concerning sex. Secondly, this is you. No matter how many times he runs away and tries to pretend he doesn't care, it's a big deal for both of you. He loves you and he knows you love him. That kind of devotion takes a little getting used to."

I couldn't say anything, didn't know what to say. No one could give me all the answers, not even Huggy. He could listen and assure me everything was gonna be okay, but until Starsky proved it, I would never be sure. But right now, there was the case. I had to concentrate on something I could change, that was the plan.

We worked together, like always. Being cops was something we were good at; being lovers had too many pitfalls. We took down Corday, but after the bad guys are caught you're left with each other. Who wins and who loses depends on who's stronger and more willing to take the hurt.

A man preferring a man is not as casual as someone having a bad cold, that's what he said. No, it's not casual. It was monumental, at least for one party. He just wanted to pretend his feelings for me were something he could cover up with a good dose of women. The jab I made about his kissing ability was just another in a long line of attempts to make him hurt as much as I did. I loved his kisses, the way his lips met mine and wanted me. I wished he could understand that we were just like John, no matter how much he denied it.

I thought he was beginning to understand it when he suggested we get away for the weekend to Lake Tahoe. He knew something between us had been broken, that we needed to fix it. That's why a weekend away sounded like a good idea. We'd either come back from the weekend more solid or more broken, but whichever way it went there was a serious need to do something.

But before we finished up our last day before the weekend, Carol Wade, a teacher we both knew, asked us to check out a possible case of abuse against one of her students, a little boy named Guy. He was playful and energetic, but he also had marks on his back that Carol thought were signs of physical abuse. We promised we'd look into it.

To us, that meant a quick report over at Child Services and then we would be out the door to Lake Tahoe. But Sergeant Sheila Peterson over at Child Services was so backlogged that if we let the system handle it, Guy could be dead when we returned. A choice between saving a child and getting ourselves back on track with a quick getaway was no choice at all. Starsky understood, not wanting to see a child hurt anymore than I did, but he didn't know the whole story.

While we were investigating Guy's case, trying to save him from any more pain, it never even occurred to me that the father wasn't to blame. The father was always to blame; that's the way it is. Fathers hit, mothers love. Except this time, it was the other way around. His mother couldn't love him; she couldn't love any man, so little Guy paid the price. Sometimes you're lucky and have someone there to protect you, but Guy's sister couldn't protect him. But even after all the hitting, all the hateful words his mother threw at him, Guy still loved her.

Guy's dad took him and his sister, but for Peterson that wasn't enough. She was still not convinced that the situation was resolved. Guy's mother would be shuffled over to a court-ordered psychiatrist, but she wouldn't get all the help she needed. Guy wouldn't get any treatment at all, so it was likely that he would grow up thinking abuse and love were interconnected. He might even fall into the cycle of abusing others.

For now, the simple fact that he was away from his mother would have to be enough. It would be hard for him not to fall into that trap, but maybe with enough love from his dad and enough positive reinforcement throughout his life, he could survive it.

Starsky was happy just to have removed Guy from the immediate situation. He thought we had saved Guy and everything would be okay. He didn't know, he couldn't know...but I thought he should.

So, after we'd finished the reports and the case was officially closed, I invited him over for dinner. It was a hesitant step towards getting us back on track, but more importantly, I needed him to know about this part of my life. While I waited for him, letting the meatloaf bake in the stove, I pulled out one of my photo albums. It was the one with the pictures of Jake. When Starsky's knock came, I was halfway through the album, lost in the memories of what might have been. I set it down on the coffee table and went to open the door.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized before the door was even open. He held out a bottle of wine. "Had to stop and get this."

"Wine?" I took the bottle from him, carrying it to the kitchen.

He followed me, continuing the conversation. "Didn't know what you were making, so I figured I'd bring a bottle. If nothing else, we can save it for some other time." He took a deep breath, his face lighting up. "Meatloaf? Honest to goodness meatloaf?"

"Honest to goodness meatloaf," I repeated. "It's almost ready, so go set the table."

I uncorked the wine, pouring us both a glass. If nothing else, the buzz would help my nerves. I handed the glasses to Starsky, letting him set the table. The meal was cordial, almost normal for us, but I kept holding back. He wanted to talk about the good things and all I could think about was the one bad thing that hung over my head. I couldn't tell him yet, couldn't figure out how.

It wasn't until we had finished eating that the opportunity presented itself. I was cleaning up and had sent him out to the living room.

"Hey!" Starsky called out. "What's Jake's pictures doing out?"

I abandoned my cleaning to answer him. He was flipping through the pictures, smiling at them. He looked up at me when I got to the doorway. "You looked a lot like Jake when you were younger."

"I know," I answered, walking over to the couch and sitting down beside him. I pulled the album so it was between us. "Jake always said I'd turn out to be just like him."

Starsky covered my left hand with his. "You turned out to be who you were supposed to."

"Yeah, well..." I trailed off, concentrating on the pictures. "Maybe if Guy had someone like Jake around he wouldn't have ended up like he did either." I traced my fingers along one of the pictures. "Or maybe it's better that he didn't. At least he won't have to live with the guilt that someone else was hurt because of him."

"What?" Starsky asked, confused.

"Guy didn't have anyone to take his beatings for him, not like I did," I continued, not daring to look into Starsky's eyes just yet.

"Hutch, what are you saying?"

"Jake was strong," I said, trying to keep control. "He wouldn't let me get hurt if he could help it."

"Hutch," Starsky said, putting his hand on my face. He made me look at him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that sometimes people who love you will hurt you, too." I dropped my eyes. "Jake got hurt a lot because he wouldn't let them hit me."

"Who?" he asked.

"You know who," I said, raising my eyes again. "And as many times as he tried, he never hurt me like he wanted."

"But he did hurt you sometimes, didn't he?" Starsky let his hand drop.

"He loved me," I said, closing the album and retreating from the couch.

"He hurt you!" Starsky pointed out, jumping up to talk to me on even ground.

"So did your dad and you still love him, don't you?" I asked.

"He never beat me for no reason."

"Neither did mine," I said. "There was always a reason. Every time he hit me or Jake, there was always a reason."

"There's never a reason good enough for hurting your kid, Hutch."

"Tell Guy that," I said, turning towards the bedroom. "Tell him that he didn't deserve to be beat."

"I'm telling you," he said, walking closer to me. He pulled me around so we were face to face. "You didn't do anything wrong and neither did Jake. Sicknesses like that aren't contagious, though. He can stop the cycle, just like you did."

"By running away from it?"

 

 

"By surviving it," he said, putting his arms around me. "You survived it and you don't ever have to go back to it again."

I did survive it. Just like I survived everything we went through on the streets. I forgot how tough I had become over the years, but Starsky always reminded me. I wasn't a victim anymore. Now, I was the hero that righted the wrongs. I did what I did so that no one else had to suffer. I thought I could save the world; that's why I took this job in the first place. And no matter how rough it got out on the streets, I knew I could count on Starsky without question.

Again and again, I trusted him.

~~~

We were starting to have a run on dead pushers, junkies killed by their own product. Except this time it wasn't due to an overdose; it was actually poisoning. Drugs cut with strychnine. A grim reality we lived with every day. In the middle of all that death, Starsky thought up this fanciful idea of us buying a house together. He said it could be an investment and we could make lots of money. His get-rich schemes rivaled Huggy's sometimes; it's no wonder they became friends. He was trying to convince me that for just $1,500 apiece, plus the bank loan, we could get a house and fix it up.

They say a fool and his money are soon parted. That goes double for a fool and his _partner's_ money.

Our caseload was cut back drastically thanks to our new ride-along, a reporter named CD Phelps. To say we were none to pleased about that was an understatement. Here we had pushers dying left and right from taking tainted drugs and Dobey wanted a civilian to ride with us. His hands were tied and so were ours.

It was a little easier to swallow when we saw CD for the first time, though. A girl reporter--that was gonna be fun. It might not be so much of a struggle to get through the day if it became a game that Starsky and I could compete over.

Dobey took us off everything but the drug case, even told us to ignore calls, so we could concentrate on the one case and, by default, CD herself. We followed his directions, ignoring the radio on our way to the butcher shop to follow our current lead. The latest dead body was Wells, a former pusher who worked part-time down at the butcher shop. If we could track down where he got his drugs from, maybe we could find out who was cutting the bad junk. Tony, the butcher, knew enough about Wells to tell us where we could start looking, but we'd have to lean on him to get him to talk. We wouldn't have to lean that hard, just a small threat about closing down his place for unsanitary conditions. It did the trick; Tony gave us the information we came for.

Our next stop was supposed to be lunch, but CD wasn't all that hungry. She seemed to be less than pleased with the day so far, which made our five-dollar bet over which one would date her first that much better. It wouldn't be an easy win, but it would be a ton of fun trying.

We headed over to Riley's bar to check on a hooker named Roxie, who often bought from Wells in the past. She might know where he been shopping lately. Roxie didn't look very good, though. We interrupted her with a john, but she didn't seem to care. Business had gotten worse since the last time we'd seen her and she wasn't able to afford as much of the drugs as she needed. I gave her some cash to help her out even though she couldn't give us any leads on Wells.

I couldn't forget what might have been if I hadn't gotten help like I did. All Roxie needed was help, someone to be there for her. I couldn't do much, but I could lend a hand. CD didn't see it that way. She was more concerned about us letting Roxie operate than seeing how the information she sometimes fed us might help us in the greater scheme of things. She had a lot to learn about the streets.

We couldn't tempt her into going out for a drink with us after work, though. She was too focused on her story to be distracted. We, however, were just getting started. Our bet rose to ten dollars and was apt to climb higher. We had resources to help us get a better picture on the mysterious CD Phelps, such as DMV records. The more we knew about her, the more level the playing field. But my attempt to throw Starsky off the trail by telling him that she was married didn't fly. He grabbed the paper I had been scribbling on and read the whole rundown. She was single, born on November 12th, and was twenty-six years old. A prime target for our wager, which we now upped to twenty. The stakes were getting higher even though the game was just getting started.

We drove separately to work the next morning, at Starsky's insistence, and I barely made it to the station before him. Before we started working on the case, Starsky insisted on taking me around to see some properties. The first one he showed me was a rundown shack in a crime-ridden neighborhood. To Starsky, it seemed perfect. My partner is often blind to the truth.

On the ride back, though, all fun and games got thrown out the window. There was a possible overdose victim at Riley's bar. We knew in an instant who it had to be. The coroner was there when we got upstairs and verified that Roxie had died at about 1:30 in the morning from strychnine-laced dope.

I was really in no mood for CD's lecture that we could have saved her if we'd acted sooner. I had tried to save her, but she turned her back on me every time. Now, all we could do was find out who had supplied Roxie, and hope that she'd be the last victim.

We rousted the bar, but all we found out was that Karl Regan had cut her off the night before. He probably wasn't the one who was cutting the dope, but he was a good enough lead in a case that had no others.

My desire to win over Ms. Phelps was stopped cold when I read the morning paper. She made us look like idiots in her first story, calling us Mutt and Jeff, and going on about how we were heavy-handed thugs. Dobey couldn't get her out of the car until her assignment was done, but the gloves were off now. If she wanted to see real police work, she was going to see it up close and personal.

Relegating her to the back seat, we took her out to follow up a lead on Regan. The dispatcher told us that he was spotted heading north, so we went after him. But when we caught up with him, he insisted he'd cut Roxie off because she didn't have any money.

Ms. Phelps was still on her high horse about how badly we treated suspects, claiming that brutalizing them wasn't the answer. She was so naïve about the streets that it was impossible to explain anything to her. People were dying out here and she wanted us to treat hoods with kid gloves.

When she became witness to a rape, I think it finally hit her, but then she had a new topic: how we let the system fail. How can we force a victim to file a complaint? If they didn't want to press charges, there was little or nothing we could do about it. It didn't mean we were happy to let a rapist go, but the system is in place and there are rules.

Huggy came through for us with a solid tip. A man named Laurie Rizzo was tied to the whole thing and it was all about vengeance. His sister had died because of drug dealers, so he was out to punish them. Killing the pushers, he thought, would stop the drugs. But we were able to stop him, with no help from Ms. Phelps. We were even able to arrest him without having to shoot him. What Ms. Phelps failed to realize was that violence is sometimes necessary, but whenever possible, we'd rather take down a suspect without anybody getting hurt.

She did well by us in her final article. She called us by name and praised our results, saying that the new breed of cop, which we represented, was all right in her book. That's what we were trying to show her, that all we wanted was to make the streets safer than when we started.

Starsky got his house--our house. He sank our combined funds into a rundown shack that wasn't even habitable for roaches, much less people. But he saw promise in it, and it was something we could do together. How could I deny him that, even if it did cost me money? What's a few dollars compared to what he was offering? It would give us something to focus on, a tangible reference to a promise we made to one another. We were in this for the long run, no matter what traps we met along the way.

~~~

A few days later, we had to go by the airport to pick up Jake Donner. He had been to Europe for a seminar, and we'd promised that we'd meet his flight when he returned. The European jaunt was a nice work-related getaway, but wasn't at the top of Jake's list. He was more of a street cop than we were, wanting to work his cases hands-on and not have to talk about them in theory. I hoped that we could still be working cases at Jake's age. Then again, the way Starsky kept going we'd be lucky if we were still working cases next year. Starsky was more about the immediate, as usual. Even my story about the 148-year-old Russian man I'd read about in the National Geographic didn't impress him. If life felt good now, why should we think about what might happen later? That's Starsky for you. Which is also why we met Jake's 11AM flight at 10:58AM.We managed to drop Jake off at the station with little drama. Well, there was that purse-snatcher that we ran down on our way out of the airport, which we didn't think was such a big deal, and the threat of Starsky getting his car towed. I _told_ him not to park in the white zone, but since when does he listen to reason?

Jake had cases to tie up and we had to go out on patrol, so the three of us didn't see each other until later that night. Something was wrong; Jake looked sick. We thought at first that maybe he had caught the flu or something in Europe, but it turned out to be something far worse.

Jake died right after we rushed him to the hospital. His wife never even got a chance to say goodbye. I walked her back to the doctor's private office, trying to calm her while Starsky talked to the doctor. Between me and the tranquilizers, she finally calmed down.

Starsky and I were told that we'd have to be confined in the hospital. The doctors wouldn't tell us why, but their faces betrayed their concerns. Whatever Jack had, they had to assume that we might have it, too.

Hours become endless when you've got nothing to do but wait for your next breath to reveal a sleeping killer inside you. Whenever we tried to rest, we couldn't. Whenever we tried to talk, there wasn't anything reassuring to say. We tried to keep our minds off our fears, but they kept presenting themselves. What if this time in quarantine was our last few days together? What if we were sick, and we had what Jack had? What if we didn't make it through?

Starsky tried to joke it off, telling me that at least we'd go out together. That was little consolation to me. There was nothing that could erase the worry and pain that we were feeling, and being in full view of the entire hospital through the large window in our ward meant we couldn't even find solace in each other's arms like we wanted to. So we did what we could, holding each other as much as possible, keeping ourselves tied to one another through clenched hands, and creating a world where we tried to forget the threat that was looming over us.

Seventy-two hours and ninety-six games of cards later, we were sprung from our prison with me in the lead. That's when we met Dr. Judith Kaufman and Dr. Frank Meredith. I don't know if the news they gave us was better or worse than not knowing. We might still be infected; they couldn't be sure until our blood tests came back. What they did know for sure was that this disease was a plague in the making a highly contagious virus that might be spreading death to anyone that Jake came into contact with.

We called Dobey to pull all the cases Jake had worked on the last day of his life, and took Dr. Kaufman with us to go through them back at the station. With a list of names, we hit the streets to test the people who'd had business with Jake when he had been at his most infectious. We started with Big Benny, and Sister Magna, and eventually worked our way through forty-three individuals we had tested. There were eight people who were already showing symptoms; they were isolated. Slick, the purse-snatcher, we found on the streets. He had made bail, but looked as bad as Jake had. Dr. Kaufman put him into isolation immediately, but he went downhill faster than I could have imagined.

Watching the disease's rapid progress was horrible, and we still didn't know where Jake had contracted it. A good place to start, though, might be the airport. If the virus made people sick as fast as it seemed, then Jake got sick after he returned from Europe.

We talked to the head of security at the airport who'd been on duty during the purse snatching. He couldn't remember anything solid except that someone had bumped into Jake and then Jake grabbed his own hand. That's where he got the scratch and the most likely way he got infected. Which meant the person he bumped into was infected, too. The security cameras had caught the whole thing, but the screenshots revealed something bigger. The guy who had bumped into Jake was Thomas Callendar, a mercenary for hire.

The next day was a blur of dead ends. Callendar, we found out, was in town to fulfill the terms of a gangland contract on an underworld figure named Roper. He was a hired killer, an international assassin who never missed. But if you can't find the shooter, go after the target, Starsky said. Which is what we did the next morning; we staked out Roper's house and followed him downtown. Judith said that Callendar was creating antibodies, so his blood could be the key to an antidote. All we had to do was catch Callendar long enough to get a blood sample. But that was harder than we expected. We chased him and lost him in the course of ten minutes. This man made his living by not getting caught; we were trying to do the impossible.

But then the stakes were raised higher than we were ready to handle. Judith called us back to the hospital, her voice suggesting that she did not have good news to deliver. I was right; it was horrible news. I was infected, given a death sentence unless Callendar could be found in forty-eight hours. My days and nights would not be spent on the streets, but in a paper gown on display behind a glass window. Come see the freakish cop who was going to be taken down by a simple virus.

Boredom gave way to nightmares the next day. Memories of my past bled into a dim view of the future. I was visited by the ghosts of those who I'd failed, those who I had loved less than I should have. The worst was when I was forced to choose again, my current love over my past ones. Starsky's slumped body lay bleeding on the floor, red stains seeping through his shirt. He looked up at me, begging me to save him once again. His eyes questioned me, making me believe that he could die at any moment. His glance drifted off to his right and I followed his gaze.

Marcus was there, eyes burning red. He was still haunting me, pressing me to act. His victim was not someone I knew in passing, but someone I knew well. Abby looked so real, so terrified, as she stood in my hospital room and stared at me. She was no longer safe, and couldn't run away from the pain she had gone through with me. I was sure that she was standing right there, even when Marcus had his hands around her throat and taunted me with a choice. I could save her or I could save Starsky.

The choice was supposed to be hard, supposed to make me feel as if I'd fail one or betray the other. But as much as I wanted to save them both, I couldn't. So I reached out to Starsky, and although I tried to touch his hand, we remained apart. The sound of Abby's neck cracking shook me; I watched her fall to the ground.

Marcus continued to taunt me, warning that my choice had been made, but it wasn't the right one. I chose Starsky, but Marcus assured me that Starsky would not return the favor.

I couldn't believe that, wouldn't lose that one hope. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the images to be erased from my sight. When I opened them again, there was no one there. Only one reminder was still evident, a red marks on the glass that spelled out my partner's nickname, Starsk. He had been there; he was with me still. Starsky would not abandon me; my choice had not been in vain. He _would_ love me if we could just make it past the pitfalls.

The shadows were crowding in, causing me to doubt that I would survive. I envisioned Starsky there, whenever I opened my eyes, but I never knew if he was real or another figment of my imagination. I didn't want to die, didn't want to leave him, but my very survival depended on him. He was my only hope, my last tie to this world. I wouldn't give him up.

He didn't fail me!

It was dark, frightening when I was near the end, but a light appeared. _He_ appeared, to save me. He whispered words of encouragement, promises that I would live. He wouldn't let me go, wouldn't let me leave without knowing that he truly cared. I did survive, getting better little by little each day.

By the time I got out of the hospital and we dropped Judith off at the airport, I was well enough to put on my usual spiel with her, but Starsky knew better. I was improving, but I wasn't recovered yet. He would make sure that I was completely well before he let me out of his sight.

My get-well dinner was scrambled eggs, but this breakfast-for-dinner switch had a reason behind it. It was Starsky's way of assuring me that we had made it, yet again, through the impossible. It was made even better since Starsky decided that I wasn't ready to feed myself yet, so he took over the duty.

"We're still here," he said, getting a forkful of fluffy eggs and bringing it up to my mouth. I took the bite, watching his eyes. He looked back down and got a second portion, pausing before lifting it up to my mouth. "You made it."

I swallowed his offering. "We made it," I corrected him. I lay my hand over his, stopping him from keeping me silent with food. He gazed at me, taking a deep breath. "I'm not going anywhere, you know?"

"You almost did," he said, voice cracking a little. "I don't know what I would've done if you didn't make it."

"You always save me," I tried to joke. "Isn't that the way it goes? We always beat the odds at the last minute?"

He looked down at the discarded food, taking a shaky breath. "One of these times, though, I'm gonna play it too close. Look at what we had to do to make it this time."

"You had to do what you had to," I told him.

Starsky raised his head. "I let him go, Hutch. I made a choice and I chose you. Now, no matter what happens, I'll have to owe your life to a murderer."

"Letting him go saved a whole lot more people than killing him would have and you know that," I pointed out.

"He's going to kill again, Hutch, and it's my fault for not stopping him."

"Starsky," I said, squeezing the hand under mine, "whatever he does from now on, it's not up to us. You made a choice to save me and hundreds of other people. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed. I'm just so in love with you that I can't imagine a world where that's not possible," he said, his eyes shining.

"Getting a little bit soapy on me, aren't you?" I teased.

"That's what you do to me," he laughed. He raised our intertwined hands and lay a gentle kiss on them. "Will you let me show you?"

I nodded. He pulled me up to stand alongside him. We left the cold dinner and the kitchen behind as he led me into the bedroom. I let him take the lead as he slowly took my clothes off, piece by piece. My shirt, belt, and pants were all tossed aside as he prepared to love me like he wanted to. The act was not like anything we'd ever done before. There was no rush, there was no need to prove the strength of our bodies, there was just simple recreation of a dream I had experienced long ago, back when my life was dark and there was only a voice and a light assuring me that they would take care of me. This time, I knew who the voice was and could enjoy the knowledge that he loved me like I deserved, and wanted to show me that I meant more to him than anyone before.

~~~

We continued to play our roles together, much like before. I was soon cleared for duty, and we promised each other that the three-day weekend before my return would serve as a final connection before we hit the streets again. Friday night we went out with Molly Bristol, the daughter of a deli owner I knew over on my block, and her friend, Crystal Peterson, just dancing and hanging out. It was supposed to be a quiet way to start the weekend, to go out dancing and then start our Saturday with each other. I was supposed to pick him up early.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the way it happened. We got pulled into a case involving a collector named John Gallagher, and a loan shark named Annie, and a lot of disgruntled people who owed a lot of money. Our dreams of a weekend to ourselves vanished.

We figured an afternoon over at our old friend Jackson's place would let us relax, create an atmosphere of enjoyment rather than misery. That wasn't going to happen, either. One racist cop destroyed a lot of lives by showing how dirty our system could be. Jackson had been a good man, and a good friend. He'd been shot down only because he was black. Now a young man was without a father. Jackson's son could no longer be called "Junior," because there was no senior Jackson anymore. When a man is faced with such an injustice at such a young age, he may travel the path of rebellion before he finds his way. Starsky knew that better than anyone. We saved Junior once, but it would be up to Junior himself to save his own future when times got tough again.

The entire community had lost a good friend in Jackson, and that was evident at his funeral. Starsky didn't cry, but I could tell that he was reliving his own pain from long ago. He had once been in Junior's place, and he struck out against the world just as hard. He had felt alone, frightened, and now he was determined not to let Junior feel the same way.

Starsky said little as we left Junior and his grandmother, Mrs. Duffy, after the funeral. The simplest promises meant the most; he assured them that we would not be far away whenever they needed us. Their loss was our loss.

I took him back to my place; there was no need to be alone. He tried to shut out the memory of that day, tried to separate what had happened to Junior from what had happened to him, but he couldn't.

I wouldn't let him.

"Junior's strong," I said, sitting down on the couch next to Starsky's slumped form.

"He's gonna have to be," Starsky said, his voice quiet.

"He's got Mrs. Duffy and he's got us."

"Sometimes it's just not enough," he sighed, leaning forward.

"But sometimes it's all you can ask for," I said, putting my hand over his. "He's not going to have to go through what you did."

Starsky turned towards me. "I sure hope not. But what was best for me might be best for him if the streets keep pushing him." He looked back towards our joined hands. "Sending me across the country was the only way Ma knew how to help me. I hated her for that, hated her for choosing Nicky over me, but she knew what was best. She knew that I could make something of myself if I came out here."

"And you did," I told him, squeezing his hand. "You've done a lot of good out here and your mother's proud of you for doing it." I paused, leaning my head closer to his face. "I'm proud of you."

He moved his face closer to mine. "The streets have destroyed men and made them break. I wonder how long it'll take before we end up just like them."

"We can only hope that we'll get out before that happens. But right now we still have a lot more to do before we have to worry about that."

"Promise me we'll get out before it happens."

"I promise," I assured him. "I'll walk away when the time's right and we'll go fight the fight somewhere else."

He seemed pleased with that, smiling at my declaration. I would like to say we made passionate love that night, but I'd be lying. The closest we got was lying in each other's arms and kissing. But that's all that we needed, all that we wanted. We were together and we had promised to remain that way for many years. One path could end, but we'd still continue on together. Wasn't that what it was all about? To be together no matter what?

But we continued to play our games, to toy with each other good-naturedly, like always. When Ellen McDermott, wife of our good friend Ted, invited us over to dinner with the promise of meeting two lovelies, we weren't about to refuse. We still competed with each other, tried to best one another, because it's who we were. Starsky wasn't out to win over Ted's little sister, Julie, he was out for the joy of the game. We both knew it wasn't going to be a romance at all, but more like a prize to win. That sounds cruel, but it was the truth. We adored Ted and his family, we put our lives on the line to get him out of his gambling fix, but we weren't going to forego who we were in the name of what we had become.

And what we had become was lovers, at the bottom of it all. I had come to realize that no matter how many women we slept with, how many relationships we had outside of our romance, we always ended up with one another. In a simple way, that's all I ever wanted.

That's why I took his latest fling, Sharon, with a grain of salt. Not because Starsky was chasing her or trying to bed her, but because he came to me first and she always came second. Sharon was an airline stewardess who had heard about us from our other favorite stew, Kathy. We met Sharon when she had a layover from Honolulu. Starsky was more interested, so he got to her first. I went home while he went over to her hotel, but I wondered while I was driving home if he would ever tell her the truth. Before we went down to the bar where we met Sharon, Starsky had spent hours making love to me as slowly and carefully as our first time. I wondered if Sharon would know that his interest in her was strictly for kicks. I was for keeps. I wondered if she would ever understand that she'd soon have to leave, but I'd always get to stay? It didn't matter. I knew the truth, even if she had to learn it the hard way.

~~~

The next day, Dobey called us in for a case about Frank Marchetti. He was an undercover cop down at the docks who'd been killed. We had to figure out why he was singled out, whether his cover had been blown or he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That would mean that we'd have to go under, too, as dockworkers.

It also meant that we'd get the rest of the day to work on our cover. Working out our cover wouldn't take that long, so I was looking forward to a long, relaxing afternoon with Starsky. I was also a little curious to find out what was going on between him and Sharon. We decided my place was better, so that's where we ended up. My living room was, more to the point, where we ended up.

"Dock workers, huh?" he sighed, sinking down onto the couch beside me.

"A little manual labor never killed anybody," I joked, reaching for him.

"No, but you sure could," he said, leaning into my touch. He sat back and I gathered him into my arms.

"Now why would you say that?" I asked, smiling. "I thought it was Sharon that wore you out last night."

"More like talked me out. We didn't do anything but talk and kiss, nothing heavy."

I relaxed a little at that admission. "What did you talk about?"

"Her, me, Kathy, you...."

"Me?" I interrupted. "What about me?"

"She asked me if some of the stuff Kathy told her about you was true." He turned towards me and placed a soft kiss on my chin. "I was happy to say they were."

"Wow, my reputation precedes me, huh?"

"I wouldn't say all that." He looked up at me again, his eyes shining. "I'd just say you live up to it." He moved his body so he was laying on me. "I'd say you live up to it quite well."

His lips met mine and I opened my mouth to allow him easier access. He took control of me, letting his hands say more than his words ever could. My cock had begun to grow harder in my jeans. I was ready, willing to let him take me anyway he wanted. He motioned for me to move under him; I stretched my body out along the couch. His fingers soon worked their way under my shirt and before I knew it my chest lay bare, my shirt thrown to the floor. His lips dotted a path down my chin and neck, then over my chest. Each touch fueled my anticipation for what was to come. His hands had wandered down to my button-down fly and soon my jeans were opened. He reached and pulled the material over my hips along with my underwear, allowing me a quick moment to lift up so that he could get the pants down my thighs more easily. He gazed up at me as he pulled each of my legs free. I knew what he was doing, knew what was coming, but I was more focused on the emotions burning inside me than paying attention to anything else.

"You are so beautiful," he said softly.

Slowly he trailed his fingers back up towards my waiting cock. His eyes focused on his task. He wanted me so badly, so totally, that this next step was just as natural for him as it was for me. His tongue darted over the tip of my cock, now straining for some kind of release. I gasped, not daring to touch him for fear I would be seen as rushing. Instead, I grasped the back of the couch. He didn't seem to notice, just went on silently with what he was planning. His lips began to press soft kisses on me, his tongue teasing me towards a faster release. His mouth hovered over me, as if he was questioning his own actions. His decision was soon made, though, as he opened his mouth and took me in, at first just a little, and then totally.

I gasped again, moaning at the sensation. To describe it would be impossible, but pure joy came closest. I was with him, in him, and he was totally there with me. There was no one else, no one to focus on outside of this living room, this couch.

Too quickly, it was done. I felt as if I were disconnected, temporarily lost, when he pulled away. The cold shock of emptiness was replaced, though, with his warm body as he lay on me. I was spent, but he didn't seem to care. He didn't need me to respond, he just needed me to be there. And I was, totally unwilling to move from that spot until he wanted me to.

He pulled me from the couch after a while, with me still in a daze of ecstasy, so that he could give me a shower. The splashes of water were punctuated by our kisses, dotting each other's wet bodies until we were without a beginning or end. This was what it was about, this joining and being one. It wasn't about anyone outside of these walls because no one else could compare to what we were to one another.

He quickly dried off and put on a clean set of clothes from my dresser, urging me to relax and lounge while he went over to his place. He had promised Sharon he'd make her dinner, but assured me that he'd be back soon. He never breaks a promise, no matter what.

During those few hours I watched some television and made a quick snack, but he came back just as he said he would. We held each other, laying in my bed, until the night sounds faded into sleep. He had seen her, but he came back to bed with me. That's the ultimate truth, he'd always end up with me when it really mattered.

He didn't tell me the sad truth until we were well into our undercover assignment the next morning. I had worn him out so much during our lovemaking that he fell asleep on the couch while entertaining Sharon. She had quietly let herself out, leaving him a note to say she looked forward to seeing him again. I couldn't help but wonder if she had been pleased by his lack of force, or would have been more grateful to find a man who wanted to take her to bed as soon as he met her. Either way, the way I had affected him was a minor victory on my part.

We got close to one of the dockworkers, Jimmy Spencer. He was a local boxer. It worked out well that he was on our side. He warned us about some of the guys working the docks and mentioned Gavin by name. We never heard any good things about Gavin and knew of some of the rougher trades he had a hand in. Knowing he was connected to Jimmy was bad news.

Starsky and I convinced Jimmy to go out with us and we welcomed his trainer, Jeter, along, too. The more we could find out about the whole situation with Jimmy and Gavin, the better off we'd be. It was going to be slow going, though, since Jimmy wasn't about to spill his entire story to us so fast.

The real truth came out when he invited us to his fight that night. I had to put up with Sharon for a while, since Starsky was trying to make up for falling asleep on her, but the case soon made her nonexistent afterwards.

I was more than a little suspicious about what was going on between Jimmy and Jeter. We had gone to see them in the locker room after Jimmy won his fight, but there was a lot of tension evident between the boxer and his manager. I asked Sharon to take Jimmy's son, Stevie, home while I convinced Starsky to come back with me and talk to Jimmy again.

Instead of a nice chat in the locker room, we walked into the middle of a fight with some of Gavin's heavies. Even after saving him from a beating, though, Jimmy refused any more of our help. Then he left, disappeared from the scene. Jimmy's ex-wife wouldn't help us, and Jeter wouldn't let us help Jimmy, saying he was in enough trouble as it was. We were at a loss and getting nowhere fast.

I didn't stay over at Starsky's that night since I had to get to the garage early the next morning to get my car fixed. Starsky took great pleasure in pointing out that my car was broken more than it was fixed lately. I just waved him off and told him I'd see him at the station the next morning. It was a quiet night, too late to do anything much more than just pass out in bed and hope that tomorrow was easier than today.

We cruised the streets in the morning, just working the beat while we waited for Huggy to find out something about Jimmy. He called us later in the afternoon to tell us what he had turned up. Starsky was running on empty by that point. He was falling asleep in his beer and complained that he even overslept that morning. If I had stayed over, he wouldn't have done that, but then again if I had stayed over he wouldn't have called Sharon. For what little sense she had, she was beginning to wise up to Starsky. She brushed him off with an excuse about washing her hair and going to bed. Score another one for me.

Huggy found out where Jimmy was staying, but when we went to offer the boxer our help again, we were flatly turned down. We went to pressure Jeter again, but found another option before we could get to the locker room. Booker, the fighter Jimmy had taken down in the ring, was being used by Gavin, just like Jimmy was, but he just couldn't see it yet. We warned him that he'd end up just like Jimmy in a few years, pressured to take falls and sell out. I didn't think we'd get through to him, but a little honesty might do him some good.

Jeter certainly wasn't going to do anybody any good. He was back in the locker room, but set against Jimmy right from the start of the conversation, saying he was washed up and that they really weren't that close. Nobody seemed to want our help; nobody wanted to lend a hand to a down and out boxer.

A whole day of chasing leads ended up turning up nothing. All of Huggy's tips led to dead ends. Nobody wanted to talk, especially not about Gavin or Jimmy or the case they were involved in. Starsky was barely able to put one foot in front of the other, so I sent him home. I wasn't too worried when he got the idea to invite Sharon over. The way he was now, he'd be asleep in the course of thirty minutes.

I decided to go hit up Jeter again, alone. Booker was there and told me the truth: Jeter had narced to Gavin and set Jimmy up. Down at the warehouse on lot three, Jimmy was about to get knocked off just like Frank Marchetti.

I called Starsky and told him I'd meet him down at the warehouse, pulling him away from his feeble attempts to get laid. On my way over to the warehouse, I called for backup. The last thing we needed was to get caught in a shootout with no help. For the most part, though, it was a clean arrest. Bad guys zero, good guys one. Jimmy even agreed to testify against Gavin, so we were feeling pretty proud. Sharon had left by the time we got returned to Starsky's apartment, but who needed her around anyway?

We took Jimmy and his wife out to dinner the next evening. Starsky was trying to entertain Stevie, Jimmy's boy, but I don't think he was succeeding. Stevie ran back over to his father when I went to the bar and who should wander in but Sharon. It wasn't that I was jealous, but I did sit down at the table with them just to be sure she wasn't going to pull something. Starsky was falling over himself trying to get her to forgive him for leaving her high and dry. In his defense, he did try to call her hotel all day, but there had been no answer. That was because she had reconciled with her ex-fiancé, George.

I couldn't control my laughter. I had beaten her fair and square. She got George and I got Starsky. I didn't even care that Starsky poured a whole beer in my lap in retaliation. I had won.

~~~

He finally forgave my making fun of him after a few days of pouting. I knew he'd come back to me, forgive me, make love to me. I just had to give him time and space, allow him to throw a tantrum and then I'd be welcomed back. Of course, I'd forgive him, again and again. It's what I did, how I managed to make it through all the obstacles set up in our games, because I knew we'd always find our way back to what was important. And what was important to Starsky was the fact that we had plans for the evening that included him doing who knows what to my body. I called him a hedonist, but as long as it was my body he was doing it to, I was more than happy to make him feel as good as he wanted.

But Dobey put a stop to any devious plans Starsky may have cooked up. We were assigned guard duty for a Russian prima ballerina, Anna Akhanatova. On one hand, it meant we weren't going to get a night to ourselves, but on the other hand this was Anna Akhanatova. An assignment protecting her looked like baby-sitting to Starsky, but looked like a step up the ladder to me. This was definitely a sign that we were moving up in the ranks, to be given such a worthy task. At least, I thought so.

I dragged Starsky out of there so we could go get dressed for the ballet. We were not going to meet a prima ballerina in jeans and a t-shirt, no matter how much Starsky protested.

"What's so hot about her anyway?" he asked as we pulled away from the curb.

"Starsky, she's a revered Russian prima ballerina, who is on tour in our country. She's like royalty in dance," I tried to explain, straightening my tie.

"She sounds like a lot of trouble to me," he complained. "Why've we gotta get stuck with this? What'd we do to tick off Dobey?"

"It's what we did right. Do you realize how many men would kill to have such an honor?"

"Well, let any of them take her. I just wanna be home, alone, with you," he said with a hint of seduction.

"We were hand-picked for this," I pointed out, trying to get his mind back on the case. "You may not like it, but we're getting noticed by the brass for a lot of good things, too."

"The brass can kiss my...."

"Starsky!"

"What?" He looked over at me. "I have to pretend to like it, but I don't have to mean it."

It turned out that I was going to have to play the part as much as Starsky. Anna was magnificent on stage, so graceful and delicate. I was transfixed as I watched her dance, balancing and stretching in time to the music. However, off-stage, she was none of those things. She was a determined, strong-willed, ungrateful woman who blamed us for her endangered life as if we represented all of America. And she knew how to antagonize me. I hate when people antagonize me. She was nothing more than a spoiled prima donna. I should've listened to Starsky.

And he should've listened to me when I said that I was tired of games. He was trying to defuse the situation between me and Ms. Akhanatova by throwing himself at her. She, of course, was too blind to see anyone but herself. She talked down to me, belittled me, and tried to make me seem inferior. I saw nothing but animosity in our relationship; Starsky saw something else. He saw that if I was left alone with her long enough, my cock would overrule my brain. Twenty bucks was riding on the fact that he had little faith in my ability to stay away from her.

I should really learn either not to take Starsky's bets or to take more cold showers. Two hours. Two hours is all it took for me to go from hating her to kissing her. It turned her on and melted her ice queen demeanor when she found out I was willing to die for her. Yeah, that's my job and I do my job well. Except that sleeping with your charge was not in any of the textbooks at the Academy. That was the extra-credit portion of the exam. So, yes, I kissed her and fondled her and slept with her. She was softer, tamer than before. And she was there, totally with me. Who was I to turn that away?

I'll admit that a part of me was embarrassed not only for what I had done, but the personal weakness that Starsky witnessed the next morning. When he came to the door and announced himself as my "better half" I was reminded of what I had done. I failed, I lost, but he knew me too well to expect anything different. I tried to cover it, but he knew and I knew that I had fallen again for someone that would be fun for right now. Once the case was wrapped up and the tour was over, she'd be gone. So why was I with her and not with Starsky? Why did he know I'd go to her bed? Why was I so weak?

The days I had with her were wonderful. I mean, there was the case to think about, and we were doing our jobs as best we could, but I was totally enthralled with her. I knew that once she left, I'd have Starsky. Maybe that's why I was without bounds, because I knew that no matter what, he'd still be there for me just like I was for him. Except, it was not without repercussions.

Starsky held a grudge, held onto a vein of anger that wouldn't let me have a little something on the side. Being in a no-pressure, open relationship was tearing us both apart. After we dropped Anna at the airport, he drove me to my place and wouldn't come up when I asked him to. In fact, he wouldn't come up any night for the next week, though I fruitlessly offered time and time again. By Friday, I was tired of asking, but this time he followed me. He wanted to talk on his own terms, during his own timeframe.

"You wanna beer?" I offered once I was through the door. I heard him closing it behind me.

"No, not now."

"Dinner?"

"Not hungry."

"What else is there?" I asked, turning to look at him. "The one thing we need to do won't happen."

"Maybe this was a bad idea," he said, moving to go.

"You made the bet!" I yelled.

That stopped him. He whirled around, eyes flashing. "And you lost it! You stood right there and admitted that you hated her, yet you couldn't stay out of her pants for one night."

"Why does she matter so much to you? It's not like you expected me to be able to stay away from her, or you wouldn't have suggested it in the first place."

He lowered his gaze towards the floor. "I expected a whole lot more. I thought you'd prove me wrong."

"Why does she matter?" I asked again.

He turned back to me. "Because she does. Because I thought you'd love me more than that."

"You think I don't love you?" I asked, moving towards him.

He pulled back, retreating around the couch. "I don't know what I think anymore. I shouldn't be in love with you, but I am. I shouldn't be jealous of you doing the same thing I've done, but I am. I shouldn't care so much, but I can't help it."

"Starsky..." I started towards him again, but this time he didn't move. "I've never loved anyone like I love you. And I'm sorry that I did what I did with Anna."

"That's the thing, Hutch," he said, walking around and taking a seat on the couch. "We said we weren't gonna pressure each other into doing anything exclusive and that's exactly what I'm doing."

"Do you want us to stop dating women?" I asked as I joined him on the couch.

"I don't know," he said softly. "All I know is that I was jealous knowing she was with you."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I want...I want to know you're not gonna run away from me if she comes back. I wanna know that I don't have to live in fear that one day Anna, or Abby, or any of the hundreds of other women you've slept with, are going to come back into our lives and you'll choose them over me. I want to be sure that I can take it if you're not there anymore."

I reached out and took his hand. "You want a promise of forever?"

"I want a promise that's gonna last past tomorrow."

"I'm gonna be here tomorrow, next week, next month, for as long as you'll want me."

He smiled at that. "I just want it to be us for a while, Hutch. Nobody else; just us." Starsky leaned towards me, letting me take him into my arms.

"Nobody else," I promised.

We were okay after that, together again. Starsky felt more assured that I was there for the long haul, and I was more than ready to do just that. It was no longer a matter of trying to outdo the other; it was more a matter of trying to be true to each other. We were sure that these feelings weren't going to just disappear, so we were no longer afraid to admit it. We loved each other, and we were in love with each other.

And when you love someone, you are determined to make it through thick and thin. You put up with a lot of things. Such as going with your partner to buy another expensive watch that he didn't need. Which was why, Wednesday before our shift, we were in the jewelry store. The storeowner was less than impressed with me and he wasn't too keen on Starsky, either. He wasn't trying to sell the watch very hard, and if Starsky didn't keep prodding him I'm sure he wouldn't have made a sale that day. Well, I mean, except that Starsky was forced into buying the watch after he ran off with it and scratched the crystal. It was all in the line of duty, as we tried to catch a kid who'd stolen a lighter from the store. In the process, we lost the kid, destroyed a flower shop, and made the jewelry storeowner think we were trying to rip off his watch. Starsky's need to have another new watch cost him $300, and I was out $50 for the flowers I'd crushed. Love is expensive when Starsky's involved.

While the boys at the station were howling over our plight, Starsky got a call from Huggy. All Starsky would say was that Huggy was putting out an SOS and acting weird, insisting that both of us be present for a meeting. For Huggy, acting weird could be anywhere from normal to psychotic, so I was flying blind.

When we got to the Pits, though, I could see that someone had done a number on him. He'd been used like a punching bag. He said one of the guys, a tall blond, had asked him specifically if he knew me. When Huggy didn't give him the right answer, his ugly associate turned Huggy and his place into a destruction zone. They sent a message that they wanted to meet Starsky and me at a coffee shop on 13th and Brady at two o'clock. All we had to go on was that they were in a tan van. I hated that Huggy had become connected to us in such a brutal way.

I put an APB out on the van, but on the way to the coffee shop we got detoured by that larcenous kid again. Starsky spotted her on the corner, so we went after her. With a little effort, we managed to corral her into the car and drive her back to the jewelry store. The owner, seeing who she was, didn't think pressing charges was the best course of action, because her mother was rich. So, her mom, Mrs. Carson, got charged for the lighter, and Joey, which was the kid's name, got off free. We decided to take Joey home. I don't know what's worse, having the kid on the streets or taking her back to a house where she received no attention. Oh, her mom didn't abuse her or anything, she just ignored her most of the time. Liberated parenting was what she called it. I called it stupidity.

By the time we finished with Joey, it was almost time for the meet with the bastards who'd beaten Huggy up. My already frayed nerves weren't helped by Starsky's new watch alarm going off. Stupid watch with all its stupid bells and whistles.

We spotted the tan van and took off after it. I was calling in to dispatch and they were keeping us updated on where the van had been last spotted whenever we would lose sight of it. By the third update, we were heading out of town. I called in for Sheriff support. It was a little strange that we didn't see any backup all the way out to the farm where the van ended up, but we were so focused on the chase that we didn't take the time to ponder it.

They had ditched the van near the farmhouse; whoever had been inside was now holed up in the house. They opened fire on us as soon as we pulled up and in seconds had pinned us in the barn. All we could do was wait for back-up: me, Starsky, and our secret ride-along, Joey. She had jumped into the back of the car and hidden on the floor when we'd left her house. Now, she was stuck in the middle of a shootout with us. What a way for a kid to spend an afternoon.

Huggy was right. I was responsible for all the trouble we were in. Johnny Bagley, a man I'd put away seven years ago, was now back out on the streets and ready for vengeance. Starsky and Joey just happened to be the unfortunate tag-alongs.

To make it worse, there was _no_ back-up coming. All those calls to dispatch had gone unheard because it was actually Johnny's gang on the CB with us the whole time, not BCPD dispatch. We were outnumbered, alone, and two hours away from burning to death in that barn. Why do I attract all the crazies?

I tried to talk Starsky and Joey into leaving. It was me they wanted, not them, so why should they die trying to protect me? Starsky said he'd rather be inside with me, a gun in hand, than out there, naked and vulnerable. I figured he was putting on a show for Joey because he was more loyal than he was letting on.

The countdown was ticking too fast and we still didn't have a plan. We finally convinced Joey to make a run for it when we were down to just an hour. She was our getaway person, sent to make contact with anybody that would listen.

We rushed out of the barn to cause a distraction so she could get away clean.

Well, Joey made it out unharmed, but Starsky didn't. He got shot in the leg while I was trying to cover him. I dragged him back inside and tried to tend his wound. I don't think the leg hurt as badly as his psyche. He needed me to reassure him that everything would be okay. He was depressing himself by thinking about the worst-case scenario. He was also trying to convince himself that it would be better if he sacrificed himself so that I could make it out alive. I pretended to ignore that part of the conversation because it was a pointless plan, anyway. Why should he expect me to sacrifice him when they wanted me? I wasn't going to barter his life away for mine.

 

 

Once he was convinced that it was both of us or neither, he joined me in planning our escape. He still thought he might not make it, even gave me his watch in case the worst happened, but I assured him that we'd be okay.

That stupid watch, symbolizing so much more than just a fancy way to keep time, was what got us through it. We were forced out of the barn when the blaze began, but we made it out just fine. We got into the house and took out our captors, one by one. I took down the last one by spooking him with Starsky's watch alarm. The watch was destroyed, but we were okay.

The doctor told Starsky to take the rest of the week off and even Dobey agreed, but when does Starsky listen to anything anyone in authority tells him? I stayed with him that night and the next three nights. I left for work the third morning, but by that afternoon he was restless and came down to the station.

I teased him about Joey, his new crush of the month. She was more smitten with him than he'd like to admit, but he said that she'd probably forgotten about him by now. Well, it turned out that she hadn't. In fact, she'd gone to Dobey to get Starsky to fulfill the promise he'd made to her of a pizza date. After a lot of back-pedaling and my teasing, Starsky finally gave in and escorted her out for their date. Just what he needed, another high school crush following him around. But Joey was a good kid and she deserved a little fun for the trouble we'd gotten her into.

After Starsky recovered, I took him out for a little getaway. Starsky was all for some alone time, but Dobey's cabin didn't suit him as being the perfect place to be. We would be out in the middle of nowhere, nature's beauty all around us, and not a person in sight. For me that sounded like perfection; for him it sounded like a nightmare. He needed to be off the streets for at least a weekend and Dobey was kind enough to loan us the cabin along with a four-day weekend. As much as Starsky complained, though, I knew it would be good for him.

After a little detour onto the wrong road, we finally made it to the cabin. We unpacked the car and drove into town for supplies. The townspeople were less than friendly, though Dobey hadn't warned us about that. Maybe they just didn't like outsiders. Whatever the reason, we weren't going to be mixing with them more than we needed to.

I sent Starsky over to the gas station while I got supplies from the general store. Sara, the store owner, was the wife of the sheriff and the most welcoming of anyone we'd seen, so I couldn't discount the whole lot of them. She had the strangest look on her face, though, when I mentioned we were staying up at Pine Lake, but she quickly covered it up. After I had loaded our stuff in the car, we were ready to go. At least, we were planning on going until the sheriff started harassing us. He wanted to know who we were, what we were doing there, and insisted on verifying our stories. He even threatened to keep us in town until he got that verification. A flash of our badges and a flat out refusal bought us enough time to get away.

By the time we unpacked the car and our luggage, it was dark out. I started on supper while Starsky began to search the place. For what, I don't know. Maybe he was trying to make sure no bears could get down the chimney in the middle of the night. With Starsky, you never can tell. I kept teasing him about his unfounded fears, even pulled a joke on him when the lights went out. He was not laughing, but standing there with a bottle of ketchup for his only weapon. He was adorable.

We went out to investigate another noise. This time it couldn't be linked to my joking around. Instead, it looked like a couple of college kids were across the lake having their kicks. They had the right idea, and I was hoping that I would be getting laid tonight, too.

"Stupid kids," Starsky complained when followed me back into the cabin. "Stupid kids on this stupid lake in the middle of nowhere."

"I didn't realize you were an exhibitionist," I joked, going back towards the stove.

"We could be eaten by wild animals out here," he continued, ignoring me. "We could be torn to shreds and nobody would know any different."

"Aw, Starsk, I'd protect you from a big bad wolf," I teased, turning to smile at him.

"You think you're so funny. Just don't call me to identify the body when the rabid dogs come after you!" With that, Starsky retreated to the bathroom.

Rabid dogs? Where were there rabid dogs around here? Starsky was confusing on too many levels. I turned back to our supper on the stove. Taking a bite, I had to admit that while it would satisfy a hunger, it wouldn't make you want to come back for seconds. But, with the limited supplies at the store, it wasn't like we had a big selection to choose from. I heard the bathroom door open and Starsky emerged. I didn't turn around, though, or else I'd get pulled back into another of his pointless discussions.

"Hutch?"

"Huh?" I asked, stirring the contents of the pan.

"How would you protect me?"

"What?"

"If the Big Bad Wolf came after me, how would you protect me?"

Confusing, that's what he was. I started to turn around. "Starsky, what are you...?" And that's when I saw him. Less clothes, but a whole lot more of Starsky. His red long johns clung to every inch of his skin, cradling every curve.

"Would you throw yourself in front of me?" he asked as he began advancing. "Would you try to fight him off?"

His fingers threaded themselves in my belt-loops as he pulled me towards him. Even through my jeans, I could feel his hardness rubbing against me. He pushed me against the stove, pressing me between it and himself.

"Or would you take me in your arms and make sure I was safe?"

"Starsky..." I tried to interrupt.

"Would you melt into me and make me forget about being scared?" He leaned in and placed a kiss on my lips.

"Starsky..." I tried again.

"Or would you make love to me so all the wolves stopped knocking at the door?"

"Starsky!" I shouted urgently.

"What?" He pulled back.

"My pants are burning!" I untangled myself from his grasp and quickly pulled off my singed jeans. I looked down at them and then back up at Starsky, who was trying to stifle a chuckle. "What?"

"I always knew you had a hot ass," he laughed.

I tried my best not to break, really I did, but that lasted all of two seconds. I laughed right along with him. "Now that would've been awkward to explain to the ER nurse, huh?"

"I'm sure we could have thought up a suitable story," he said, closing the space between us once again. He put his arms around me. "I'm good at that sort of thing."

"You're good at a whole lotta things," I reminded him, pressing my lips against his. "And I hope to partake in every one of them."

He was very willing to oblige. His hand roamed down to cup my hardening cock. "Oh, you'll be schooled real well." My breath shuddered as he tightened his grip. "And I'm a very good teacher."

I don't know if it was more amazing that we managed to get to the bedroom without breaking something, or that in our four-step dance we only managed to get the buttons undone on our long johns. Then again, it was a lot of fun to draw out the process rather than getting to it too quickly. My legs bumped into the bed and I fell backwards, Starsky tumbling down beside me. His actions began more in earnest.

"Do you know how hot you look, all black and blond?" he gasped, reaching to get a better hold on the material of my shirt.

My own hands were searching for his waiting cock. "You're perfect in all that red," I pointed out, seeking to regain my breath and losing miserably.

There's something to be said about mutual hand-jobs. The tangle of flesh and material and our sweat-soaked bodies came together in something that was more than just fulfilling. This was what we had come here for, to get away from the world outside and just focus on us. It was what Starsky had asked for, what we both needed, and it turned out that we both had wanted it, too. We were together, loving one another more than we ever had. It was a wonderful feeling to know that we had come this far and were bound to go farther.

When I woke up again, the alarm clock reminding me that I had an early morning date with a few fish, I was alone in bed. We may have come far together, but I'd never be able to drag Starsky out of bed for the pleasure of fishing. I peeked out of the bedroom door and sure enough, there he lay sleeping on the couch. He must have gone out in the middle of the night, hoping that I wouldn't wake him on my early morning venture. Well, we'd see about that. After a quick shower, I put on my gear and started out the door, but before I left, I managed to roll Starsky off the couch and give him a rude awakening. I escaped the boot he threw at me and was out in the safety of the yard before he could take a second aim.

The fishing wasn't very profitable, but our neighbors across the lake looked interesting. There were a couple of guys wandering around in robes over where the bonfire had been last night. I rowed over to investigate, but I should have just stayed away. For all my troubles, I got roughed up and told to mind my own business. There were some religious gurus who were looking for serenity and that didn't include me nosing around. For all that I hated it, I really didn't have any jurisdiction, so I took my deflated self back across the lake to see if Starsky had managed to emerge from bed yet. Those freaks could go on doing their religious hocus-pocus for all I cared; I had other plans.

However, my plans did not include Starsky sprawled out on the ground and our front door used as a palette for some sick prank. Someone had used blood as the paint to make that lopsided pentagram, that I knew for sure, but I couldn't tell what the blood had come from. Random sounds in the woods spooked Starsky enough, but paired with this sick joke he was more wired than ever. And when the adrenaline kicks in, Starsky's ready to go. Too bad two hikers interrupted us or else I might have gotten a replay of last night.

The two girls, Julie and Trisha Martin, had wandered away from their hiking group. Trisha needed to use our bathroom, so she excused herself as Starsky and I laid it on thick with Julie. By the time Trisha got back outside, we had managed to invite them both to dinner and had a very enjoyable plan for the day.

Apparently, all the other times that our interactions with women ended badly taught us nothing. No, we were all fired up to have ourselves a nice little foursome that night. We were set to spend the day out on the lake to catch our dinner, a nice meal of fresh fish. Starsky went inside to get the beer, and, I assumed, some more clothes, while I was getting the boat ready.

I was all set to go, had the boat set up and everything, and still Starsky wasn't back outside yet. I kept calling for him, but finally gave up and went to investigate. It was instantly apparent why Starsky wasn't answering my calls; he was otherwise engaged. A rattlesnake was holding him hostage on the floor of the kitchen, his fear showing through his eyes. I fumbled around, trying to find something that I could use to trap the snake, finally throwing one of the blankets over it and casting it outside.

Starsky kept insisting that the snake had been inside the fridge. I checked the small refrigerator, but there was no way a snake could have wandered in there on its own. Someone had to have put it there on purpose. Someone with access to the cabin...someone by the name of Trisha Martin.

This was definitely getting too deep for us. It was time to bring in the local sheriff whether we liked it or not. We drove into town and told him our story, pointing out that between the religious freaks across the lake and the surprises left in our cabin, we were getting a little concerned that some things were slipping by up there. The local authorities didn't want to deal with us, but when we told them we'd handle it on our own, they threw us in jail. We weren't allowed a phone call, so we could get no outside help. I had no idea what was going on, but I sure wanted to find out. Dobey never mentioned anything about cults or psycho townspeople when he offered us the cabin. We were supposed to be having a quiet time at the lake, doing a little fishing and a lot of resting, but instead we were thrown into the middle of some big conspiracy.

That night we finally got some answers. Ward, the gas station attendant and part-time deputy, came to bring us supper. He also let slip that the sheriff's daughter, Lizzie, had been kidnapped by the religious cult and was being held hostage. It sounded a whole lot like another case I remembered from down the coast. The ending to that one wasn't happy.

Ward honestly thought that Lizzie would get out alive if they just cooperated with the cult. I'm sure the other girl's parents thought the same thing until they had to identify her broken body three days later. Ward was beginning to realize the truth, that without help it was going to end up just as badly for the sheriff and his daughter. Ward finally gave in and unlocked the cell door. We told him to call for backup before we took my car out to the scene, hoping that we could free Lizzie on our own.

We did manage to get her out of there, but it wasn't easy. We took out some of the cult guys on the way and dragged Lizzie back to our cabin. The phone lines were already dead and we were trapped. We played a little Blind Man's Bluff and kept the bad guys at bay long enough for the backup to arrive. It was a quick rescue, a quick tie-up, and a quick trip to nightmare central. Psychos and cult members and random weirdoes roaming the woods. How'd we attract the lot of them this time?

It wasn't just the weirdoes on the outside, either. Suddenly, Starsky became Mr. Outdoors when we locked up the only real threats to his safety. He didn't seem to care about the ravenous beasts prowling outside. He was just all fired up and ready to embrace fresh air and clean living. I'd been having nightmares about the cultists coming back for us, but he was outside fishing like it was second nature to him. However, when the real beast let loose a growl, he changed his mind fast. You never saw two cops pack so quickly and head back to the real civilization of Bay City.

~~~

By the time we got back into town, we were too tired to do much more than think. The next morning, Rachel and Mary called us up and invited us to go out fishing off the pier with them. Those two weren't the brightest lights in Bay City, but they were fun. Starsky wasn't too keen on the idea, but I pointed out that we'd have a nice day out and then spend the rest of our vacation by ourselves. He grudgingly agreed, so we went over and picked them up. Our plan was to take them out for a nice day out on the water, fishing and boating maybe, then drop them off after dinner. Maybe we could've done that, too, if Starsky didn't have this undue fascination with that stupid beeper. Ever since the department had issued them, we'd avoided wearing one, but today he put it on. I think he was hoping that it would give him an excuse to get away from the girls faster.

The case was a sniper hit, 71 yards and no scope. The victim, Allen Richards, was a young man with no enemies to speak of. He was working at a classic car place called 'The House That Jack Built.' Well, he used to work there. Now, he was laid out in the morgue, dead from a single bullet, all because he stopped to watch a mime on the street. What kind of world was it coming to when a man was taken out in broad daylight? I should ask, what kind of world was it when nobody cared?

We went over to the place Richards worked, hoping to get some more information from his coworkers. One of his coworkers was a young woman by the name of Caitlin who had the sympathy of a fruit fly. Starsky was ogling the cars and the woman, and I was just trying to get a straight answer. Starsky got his, though, when he flashed his badge. She was no more interested in him than I was in her, which was kind of nice to know. I left Starsky to deal with the ice queen while I went through Allen Richards' papers. The only good lead I could find was a meet he had scheduled with a man named Jack at 3 PM.

Jack, Caitlin told me, was the guy who owned the joint. She finally gave me the address so we could check him out. Starsky, lagging behind, finally joined me in the car so that we could head on over.

"She that important to you?" I asked, leaning against the Torino's door.

"Huh?" Starsky glanced over. "Oh, her. Well, she's definitely all woman, I can tell you that."

"What happened to not wanting to waste our weekend on women? Rachel and Mary?"

"There's no way you can compare those two to this lady, Hutch. She's...she's something."

"She's something all right," I answered. "She's something of a suspect. You just remember that, Starsk. Don't go sticking it in where it don't belong."

"You are so crude," he complained.

"And I know you too well. Keep it clean until we figure out this case."

Starsky gave in and agreed. I had enough problems dealing with the case, much less worrying about who he was trying to bed. We found Jack dead from an overdose of chloroform in his apartment, a gun in his lap, and White Shoulders perfume wafting from a half-burned cigarette. I guess when you're dealing with a dangerous woman, you can let your guard down. Which made me all the more determined to find out whether or not Caitlin was that woman.

We ran a DMV check on Jack, but didn't get anything we needed. I decided to go search Allen Richards' apartment. Maybe there was a clue that could tie Jack and Allen to whoever had a grudge against them.

Starsky, however, had other plans. He decided to work on Caitlin, work being the operative word there. He was walking right into a bad decision and I couldn't stop him. It was a legitimate, case-related reason that he went to see her, but we both knew it wasn't going to end up like that. I could have warned him that this wasn't the best option, but if I pushed, he might push back.

Allen Richards' landlady was a nosey old woman who had more greed than sympathy regarding Allen's death. She kept trying to get me interested in renting his place, as if that was all I had on my mind at the moment.

"Really, ma'am, the body's not even cold yet."

"An empty apartment is," she noted.

People can be heartless at times, you know?

Allen Richards had an unusual collection in his place. A number of theatrical masks, a group of books on theatre arts, and a couple of college books. He had several books on mimes, which was a definite link since he was watching a mime when he died. I was planning on calling Starsky when I got home, to check on what he'd found out, but even that seemed like too much effort. Shower, some food, and bed, that's all I wanted to concentrate on tonight.

The next morning I went over what I had found with Dobey. He thought the same thing I did, that the mime books might be a key to the case. The two men went to the same college, so that was a good place to start. Maybe they had some dealings out there that would lead us to the killer. Before I left, though, Dobey asked me where Starsky was. It was then that I realized that I hadn't heard from him since we'd left the station last night. Well, a little detour over to his place wasn't out of my way, so I headed over.

I should have just stayed away, really. He wouldn't open the door all the way or let me in. I soon saw why. Caitlin had turned out to be a bad suspect, but a good lover, apparently. He was playing mind games and I was not going to lose on a challenge.

But mind games were the theme of this entire case. Starsky was playing the 'prove you love me' game and the teacher of the Philosophy of Crime class was playing the 'I'm smarter than you' game. It turned out that Allen and Jack were in three of the same classes: European History, Art of Mime, and Philosophy of Crime. Neither of the first two fit the criteria for this case, but the third was a definite possibility. I went under as a non-matriculating student to see if I could gather some information, but I would have to be sharp if I was going to catch the professor slipping up. He was better at the mind games than anyone I knew. He could make you feel inferior, and played that hand in front of everyone.

My plan was to blackmail him as if I were Jack and Allen's third partner. I got to class early and left him a message on the blackboard: "I Also Know--A Friend Of Jack And Allen $$!!" I did it to scare him so that he might slip up. Instead, he turned it into a class lesson and belittled the mysterious author as being low class and none too bright. He also seemed to know exactly who left the message, though he wouldn't come out and say it. He saved that confrontation until after class, when he cornered me outside. We set up a meet on the beach, 200 yards down from his place, in two hours. I wanted to take him down in the open, no surprises.

I met up with Starsky in the Torino to talk over what would go down. He was less than keen on having this take place. I was less than keen on focusing on what might go wrong. We had to get this guy and close the case; that's all that mattered. I left and got in my own car, having Starsky follow me for the set up. It was really an easy arrest, for the most part. I mean, I got shot at, but nobody got killed and we arrested the professor and his accomplice.

Apparently Caitlin wasn't worth my worry. She was a fling, just like all his other flings. It was just a little detour to show that we could be with other people, but still love each other. It was a hard lesson, but I could see his point. If we were gonna do this, we had to be clear on how far we took it. We had an image and we couldn't let the outside world get suspicious. None of the women, none of the little detours on the road, mattered when I came to realize that he was the most important and that he saw that in me, too. We were together, despite everything. I had to be grateful for that.

We took Rachel and Mary back out to the pier to make up for our shortened date. I'd bought a new fishing pole, so I was more than happy to show it off. The rest of them, though, were too impatient for a sport that requires stillness and persistence. Starsky was the worst. When I finally did get a fish on the line, I asked him to help hold the pole until I could get a net. I should have known better. He let go of the pole when he thought the fish had cut the line, but that meant I was out one brand new fishing pole. It also cut short our dates. Score one for the underhanded tactics of my partner.

When he dropped me off at work the next morning, he told me he had an errand to run and he'd be right back. Maybe he was going to pick up something for our dinner date that night. Whatever it was, I couldn't worry about it because we had a meeting with Dobey about our expense vouchers and nothing was ready. Procrastination, that's our forte.

I was rifling around in my desk for receipts when Starsky finally decided to join me in the squad room. Starsky, however, was working on another get-rich-quick scheme. This time it was chinchilla breeding, starting with a $200 female named Louise. I had to bite my tongue. If he wanted to blow his money on a rodent, that was his business. My business at the moment dealt with trying to justify $30 spent at a bar when we were chatting up a snitch. I took my pile of receipts into the captain's office after he summoned us, and Starsky came in behind me. Apparently, he had already handed over his version of the receipts to Dobey. I guess the captain didn't consider napkin scribbles a justifiable means of record keeping like Starsky did.

All that was forgotten, though, with one phone call. The ultimate player of mind games was trying to get back into my life. Vanessa joked on the phone that she had never darned my socks. She'd never done a lot of things, like give me half a chance, but a phone call at work was not the place to hash all that out. We agreed to meet at the Pits around nine, so maybe I could find out the real reason she was in town and get rid of her before I had to deal with Starsky's displeasure over the situation. He just asked me if I was going and waved at me when I left without another word. We were both biting our tongues to keep from hurting each other that night.

I was biting my tongue and coating my throat with as much alcohol as possible. While waiting for Vanessa, I was already working on my third beer when Huggy came over. I had never told him about my ex-wife, never saw the point. She was a part of my past, not my present. Besides, the only part of my present that mattered was sitting back at the police station with a rodent named Louise.

Vanessa's sudden reappearance even had me wanting a cigarette, just to take the edge off, and I didn't smoke anymore. She had that much control over me, even after five years. No, not five years. Vanessa told me it was four years, six months, and twelve days since my princess decided she didn't like the castle anymore. When she signed on, she was getting a pre-med student, a future doctor. Instead, she ended up with a cop.

When I left college, she said I was dropping out and letting my brother's death control me. No, I was letting Jake's memory keep me alive. I outlived him. I made a future that was my own and not a re-casting of his. That's why I'd moved to California. I had to get away from my family, my past, and even Jake for a while. The police academy was where I found my calling. It's also where I found Starsky.

The first time I brought him over to meet Vanessa, he tried to like her, but she didn't make that easy. Starsky told me later that she even asked him to help her talk me out of the silly idea of being a cop and go back to college and become a doctor like I'd planned. Starsky being Starsky told her that I had to make my own choices and if she felt that way, she should tell me herself. That's why Vanessa started off not having any use for Starsky. After a while, though, it became less about him and more about how much time I was spending with him.

The day she walked out the door, she told me that I was a better husband to Starsky than I'd ever been to her, and that she wasn't going to waste her life being second best to anyone, much less a cop.

And now she was back, sauntering in like she had never left. We tried to dwell on the best of the past, recalling each others' drink orders and making small talk like old friends, but that could never be true. She wouldn't allow us to be friends, to be cordial to each other; she knew my buttons and just how hard to push them. She even struck out at me, scratching me instead when I blocked her. Faking love, that's all she was good for. I wasn't going to play her game, not again. I had a good life and her problems didn't need to become mine. I left her at the table, with Huggy looking on like he had missed the battle.

She ran out after me, begging me to let her spend the night because she was scared. Vanessa claimed that she was supposed to go to the hospital in the morning for a biopsy and she needed to feel safe that night. I wanted to tell her to forget it, to just walk away from her and never look back, but I couldn't. At some time in my life I had loved her. So, I told her to get into the car, but I didn't have to pretend to like it.

I was a good enough host, offering her company and drinks and not a word of discouragement, which is more than I can say about her. She fell back into the pattern of control, belittling my apartment and my status and grabbing my face like a child. She thought she could walk back in and flash her future wealth and have me running. I had been weak before, but no more. I offered her my bed while I slept on the couch, ready to put the whole night behind me and have her out of my life again, hopefully never to come back.

She tried to get me to break my routine the next morning, thinking that I would prefer climbing into bed with her to a sweaty run, but I wouldn't break routine for anyone. Well, one person, but he wasn't here right now. Vanessa said that she'd have scrambled eggs ready for me when I got back from my run. And that's what I was looking forward to when I came back home ten minutes later.

But there was no breakfast, no welcome, nothing that would shed any happiness into my life. Instead, I found Vanessa lying on the floor with a gunshot wound to the chest. Worse of all, the gun that inflicted the harm was my Magnum, which was lying beside her.

I was in shock, walking around in a daze. I know I called Starsky, but I said no more than a simple "I need you." I must have covered her with one of my sheets because she was draped when I sank down in the kitchen chair. The next thing I knew, Starsky was there and telling me to drink a shot of liquor. I needed it, I needed the whole bottle, but I had to be strong.

"What happened?" he asked me.

I stared at my drink for a few seconds, hoping the answers would come. "I found her...I found her laying there when I came back from my run."

"What was she doing here?" he asked. "Start from last night."

"I...I went to the Pits," I said, not daring to look into his eyes. "We tried to talk, but started fighting again. I walked out." I paused to take a sip of the liquor. "I should've kept walking," I laughed a sick laugh before looking up at him. "She told me she had to go to the hospital today for a biopsy and that she was scared to be alone."

Starsky nodded, not saying a word.

"Anyway, I brought her back here against my better judgment. We couldn't talk, not really, so we went to bed. Well, she went to bed. I slept on the couch. She was supposed to take a cab to the hospital this morning after...after breakfast."

"And she was laying on the floor when you got back from your run?" Starsky repeated.

"Yeah," I said, taking the last swallow of liquor before setting the empty glass down. "She was just laying there...and she wasn't waking up." My voice cracked, so I took a deep breath to try to control myself. I looked back at him. "My gun was right beside her. They used my gun to kill her, Starsk."

"Don't think about that now," he said, getting up. "You just...go get a shower and get dressed. I'll take care of this." He pulled me to my feet, guiding me towards the bedroom. "Just...just go."

I was working on auto-mode. I grabbed some clothes, along with some shoes, and shut myself in the bathroom. The water worked on my muscles, drowning me in heat. It started running cold before I made a motion to actually get clean. After I got dressed, I opened the door to find the coroner's office had already arrived. I guess that's what Starsky was doing, calling them. I didn't even have a chance to do anything because he grabbed my arm and told me we were going.

I couldn't speak in the car; I just wasn't able to string together a coherent sentence. He didn't push me, thankfully. But when we got to the station, I had to talk. I had to rehash the whole thing for Dobey and then do it all again for the two investigating officers from IA, Dryden and Simonetti. Starsky was not at all pleased that I was being brought up in front of IA, but like Dobey said, when an officer's weapon is involved in a murder investigation, every base had to be covered. I had to tell my story, but I didn't have to like who I was telling it to. Dryden treated me like an incompetent cop for leaving my weapon in the apartment. They were trying to run numbers on me, but I was not some rookie who just got out of the Academy. If they wanted to nail me with something, they'd have to prove it with evidence.

"They through with you?" Starsky asked, looking up from our desk when I came back into the squad room.

"For now," I sighed, sitting down across from him.

"What's the verdict?"

"Pretty much the normal IA crap. They're itching to prove I was involved in this." I put my head in my hands. "She should have never come back."

"Hey," Starsky soothed. "Whatever happened, you can't blame yourself."

"Then who am I supposed to blame?" I asked, staring at him. "She died in my living room, Starsk. My ex-wife was murdered in my own living room and they're gonna be looking at me as the number one suspect."

"Which means we gotta prove otherwise."

"You don't pick easy battles do you?"

"Where's the challenge in that?" He half-smiled, trying to relieve the tension. "Now, think about it. Did Vanessa say anything that would give us a clue about who wanted her dead?"

"I don't know," I said, dropping my hands. "I hadn't seen her in years and then she just came back like she wanted to catch up on old times. I don't even know where she was living now."

"How about what she was doing? Vanessa had to be getting money from somewhere."

"I don't know from where, though," I said. Then it dawned on me. "Wait a minute. She told me about something. She said that she was going to be getting into some big money soon. I think something to do with her jewelry business."

"That's something!" Starsky jumped up. "We gotta go tell Dobey. Maybe this will give us a lead."

I followed him into the captain's office, but Dobey wasn't alone. Simonetti and Dryden had made an appearance while we had been talking. And true to form, they made me feel like a rookie all over again. Simonetti came right out and said that I was either lying, delinquent, or stupid for not pressing Vanessa when I thought she was into something illegal. That set me off right there, but Starsky held me back and reminded me that I was already walking a thin line with IA. And then he hauled off and clocked Simonetti on his own. That's my partner.

After they left the office, Dobey yelled at us for acting up. What were we supposed to do, just let them berate us? On top of that, Dobey legally couldn't stand up for me. He told me that I was officially suspended until the whole mess blew over. I had given a lot of good years of service to the department and now I was being thrown out like leftovers. Grudgingly, I handed over my shield and my gun and stormed out to the parking lot to work the case on my own. I didn't need the help of the department to prove my innocence. I had Starsky.

And I also had two IA guys rifling through my car. They discovered quite a stone under my front seat, but Vanessa had a thing for costume jewelry, so she probably lost that last night. It had to be fake because, like Starsky said, if that thing was real we could have retired to Rio and still had money to burn. I had too much to think about, and adding a diamond to the mix wasn't helping.

Starsky told me to go home and sit tight, that he'd follow the odd couple, Simonetti and Dryden, and see what they were up to. I was ready to oblige, hoping some time away from it all would help clear my mind.

Well, my mind got cleared pretty fast. The bump on the head helped a lot. My apartment had been broken into and the guys doing the breaking were still inside. I thought there was just the one of them, but I guess his accomplice had been hiding somewhere. Before I blacked out, though, I saw Caldwell, a petty crook who typically worked as muscle for whoever would have him.

I was groggy when I woke up, trying to piece together what had happened. I must've been out for a while because it was dark when I came to. My apartment was a mess and I had a headache worse than a hangover. Before I even got started on trying to pull the place together, Starsky was knocking on the door.

He was antsy, worse than usual, which should have clued me in. Starsky suggested that Van might have been tied into Darden Wheeler, an international jewelry dealer, if our buddy Caldwell was involved. It was possible. Van ran with high stakes and Wheeler was definitely the kind of person she'd run with.

The kicker was that the diamond they had found in my car wasn't just glass, it was pure stone. Twenty carats, worth one million dollars. That didn't look good for me at all. But before I could question Starsky about that, Dryden broke into the conversation to ask if he had given it to me yet. The 'it' was my arrest warrant. Murder One issued for Kenneth Hutchinson. I could not believe this was happening. I was being arrested for Van's murder and Starsky was serving the warrant under the direct orders of Captain Dobey.

"How long have we known each other?" he asked, looking directly at me.

"Too long it seems," I shot back.

"In all that time, have you ever known me to disobey a direct order of Captain Dobey's?" he asked, saying more with his eyes than he could say with his words. He had a plan, a good plan, and I had to trust him on it. With my life, I would.

Starsky walked Dryden right into a trap. He prodded him until Dryden asked to be cuffed to me. He ended up being cuffed to my kitchen table and we made our escape. We had to ditch the car and get an accomplice, which made Huggy our first stop. We dragged him out of bed, complaining the whole time about how much trouble we cause him every day. But he agreed to help us, just like I knew he would.

Dobey did, too, though he wasn't so sure of Starsky's plan. The newspapers were supposed to run the story that I was wanted for Vanessa's murder. Starsky hoped that would lure whoever wanted the diamond out of the woodwork. That way, we could offer up the diamond at a reduced price, and, if things worked out right, we'd get a confession out of the deal.

It didn't take long for that to happen. Huggy got a call that Wheeler wanted a meet. We agreed to make the deal at the mortuary. That way, Huggy could hide in one of the caskets and tape the whole confession and we wouldn't have to risk wearing a wire.

But it went down, just like we hoped it would, and I was absolved.

That night, Starsky came over and stayed with me. We ordered a pizza, but left half of it in the fridge since neither of us had much appetite. We talked half the night about Vanessa and our life back in the beginning.

Starsky was very careful and only brought up the good things, but that wasn't the whole truth. There were some good times, yeah, but there were also a lot of bad. She walked out on me, she stopped caring, and she blamed me for all that went wrong. I wasn't innocent, but I wasn't the whole reason everything fell apart either. She loved someone who didn't exist anymore and she hated who I had become. She resented Starsky because he loved me as I was. It wasn't all bad, but the good times then could never compare to what I had now.

I had Starsky, I had love, and I had someone who accepted me with all my faults and flaws. Love wasn't easy, but neither was life, but it got a whole lot better when there was someone to share it with.

~~~

The next day, we were called to the bus station when some guy caught two slugs to the chest. Broad daylight, people all around, but only a few who saw anything. I let Starsky deal with one of the witnesses while I searched the body. He was clean, for the most part. He had a bus ticket stub from San Francisco and a plane ticket to Algiers. Bay City was supposed to be a short stopover, it seemed.

Where there's a murder, there's our favorite reporter, Stu Basset. He pushed, but we shoved. Neither one of us were in the mood to deal with his crap today.

One of the cab drivers was our best lead since he had seen the whole thing go down. Some man had taken down our victim, jumped out of his own car, grabbed the suitcase the victim had been carrying, then got back into his own car and made his escape. The cab driver got the license plate number of the getaway car, but couldn't give a good description of the driver. He did point out that another witness, a girl, had seen the driver close up.

That girl was the kind of witness we could have fun dealing with. She was pretty, with blond hair and a thin frame. The perfect prize for a new game of 'best man.' We didn't even have to bet on her; she was just a distraction for fun.

She introduced herself as Lisa Kendrick, but was hesitant to offer any information. We took her down to the station to look at mug books, just in case we'd get lucky.

I left Lisa with a stack of mug books while I ran the license plate the cab driver gave me through DMV. Starsky called the San Francisco PD to see if we could find out anything on the victim. He was still on the phone when I finished, not that DMV had given me anything useful. The car was a rental, obtained with a stolen credit card.

That meant Lisa was our only solid lead.

She became even more important when Starsky found out who the victim had been. Our dead man was Kevin Mackey, a runner for the Bay City mobster Clay Zachary. The suitcase that had been stolen may very well have had the laundry list in it, a very valuable commodity. At the very least, there was one million dollars missing. But our number one reporter had made us front page stars with the case hitting every paper in the city. Time was not going to be on our side with this one.

We dropped Lisa off at her hotel, hoping that she'd be safe there. It wasn't the best plan, admittedly, but it was the only one she'd agree to. She didn't want to be in a safe house; she didn't want to be guarded. All she wanted was to be left alone and locked away in her own hotel room so that she could get some sleep. So, we left her.

Starsky dropped me off at my place since his evening plans centered around a drive-in horror movie and I just wasn't in the mood. How can he enjoy a movie he's seen eight times? Really, bad make-up and fake blood does not make a classic. But, he didn't want to listen to reason, so I was left on my own. I tended my plants, watering them and talking to them, until the sun was completely over the horizon. I figured I'd take a shower and relax for the rest of the night. Maybe there would be something worth watching on television.

After my shower, I started rummaging around in the kitchen for dinner. I was starting to pick up Starsky's eating habits. The only thing left to eat was the half-eaten pizza left over from our night of Vanessa memories. It wasn't fine cuisine, but it would do for now. I stuck the whole thing in the oven to warm it up, after a quick trip onto the floor. What's a little dirt, huh? Gosh, I really was starting to resemble Starsky.

Then Lisa interrupted my night alone. She came knocking at my door, suitcase in tow, saying she was lonely at the hotel and wanted to stay over, for protection, or company, or just to be near someone. Whatever the reason, she came to me first. Score one for me.

She wanted to freshen up before dinner, so she excused herself to go to the bathroom. A little wine, a little pizza, a chance to one-up Starsky.

Speak of the devil, guess who started beating on my door and yelling like he was dying? I wasn't quick enough to let him in, so he snagged my key from the lintel and did it himself. His emergency was a weak bladder, but I had to head him off before he busted in on Lisa. So I lied, telling him that the bathroom was broken. A little white lie in a game of wits, that's all it was.

Starsky told me that he'd called Lisa's hotel room, probably wanting to get to her before I could, but she didn't answer the phone. I told him there were a lot of reasons that could have happened, none of which included her being in my bathroom.

I turned around for a minute to replace the key over the door and by the time I brought my attention back to Starsky, his nose had already led him to the kitchen and the warming pizza. He halted his loud complaints about how much damage I had done to the poor, defenseless food when Lisa came out of the bathroom.

She was shocked to see that I had company, Starsky was shocked to see who I had stashed away in my john, and I was waiting for the blow-up to occur. It didn't take him long. As soon as Lisa shut the door again, Starsky started in on me. I'd lied to him, that was the main thrust of the yelling. I lied about Lisa, I lied about the bathroom, I just plain lied.

It was all right for him to yell at me, to make me feel bad, but as soon as Lisa came out and was caught in the crossfire of our argument, Starsky switched gears and laid on the charm. He was not going to win, and he was not going to make this a happy little threesome. Out of spite, I refused to let him get to the bathroom, locking myself in for a long shower. That would teach him.

Well, no, that would teach me. When I left the shower, Starsky and Lisa were gone. He had one-upped me. I tried calling his apartment, but first no one would answer and then after that the phone was busy. In exhaustion, I went to bed. A good sleep might let me get back in the game, even if I was a few points down.

The next morning, I let myself into his place with the key from over his doorframe, a habit he had picked up from me. I slammed his door, waking him up from his temporary bed on the couch. I threw pillows at him, pummeling him and yelling about his trickery. I found out why the phone was busy all night; he had unplugged it.

He tried to shush me, hoping not to wake up his temporary houseguest. I made a run for the bedroom door, but he headed me off. He couldn't keep me out for long. We fell into the bedroom together--the surprisingly empty bedroom. There was a note left on the bed and we both ran for it. I managed to grab it first, keeping him at bay while I read it out loud. 'Ken—Couldn't sleep, so went back to hotel. —Lisa.' She couldn't even remember his name. That was entertaining.

We went over to her hotel room and found her just where she'd said she'd be. A quick trip down to the coffee shop for breakfast let us continue our previous attempts at charming her and getting more information out of her. When Lisa said she wanted to go back up to the hotel room and get a sweater because she was chilly, I stuck Starsky with the bill and accompanied her. We didn't even manage to get to the room before Starsky was back at our sides. So much for that plan. Weirdly, though, her room was locked from the inside. We took our typical positions and busted in, finding the room trashed and the men responsible making a getaway down the fire escape. Starsky tried to track them, but they got away. We took Lisa back to the station with us since even her hotel room wasn't safe anymore.

The web got more tangled when Dobey handed over the file from San Francisco. There were mug shots of some of Mackey's known associates, one of which was the guy Starsky had chased down the fire escape outside Lisa's room.

Lisa wasn't looking so innocent anymore. At the very least, she was probably involved with Mackey enough for his associates to know to look for her. One million dollars would take up a lot of space. Starsky's theory finally panned out. More than one suitcase would be needed to carry that much cash.

On a hunch, I called the airline. Mackey's ticket wasn't the only one of importance. Lisa had an open ticket to Algiers, too. She was looking more and more like a suspect and less and less like an innocent bystander.

She played it cool, trying to claim that she was still just an innocent participant. First, she said she had just found the money in the suitcase, then she created a fanciful story of love. A nice man, an invitation to Algiers, and a new found fortune. How could she turn it down? She had no idea where the money was now, she claimed.

That wasn't a likely story, but it was the one she expected us to buy. Dobey needed to hear this, give us some direction. We left Brogan, an experienced detective, in charge of watching Lisa while we went in to talk to the captain. He told us what we already knew, that we needed solid evidence to support our claim. That evidence wasn't going to come to us easily, especially when we found out that Lisa had given Brogan the slip. Amazing what a pretty face can do to a man, isn't it?

It's also amazing what your partner can do to you. We put out an APB on Lisa, but until the uniforms could track her down, we didn't have anything to go on. Which is why we were in Starsky's apartment for a quick meal before I went home for the night. Actually, it would be more like a quickie, if Starsky had anything to do with it. We were at a stalemate with Lisa, so she dropped off our radar as a prize. Neither one of us wanted her, anyway. Game over, time to play for real.

One minute I'm asking what Starsky had in the fridge and the next minute I'm being pressed against the wall, devoured by his impatient mouth. He ravished me, and stripped me, and readied me for what he was about to do. By the time his fingers and mouth stopped playing in tune, I was spread out on the bed and he was above me, only half-dressed. He reached down beside the bed, where my pants lay, and pulled out the handcuffs that were still on my belt. A look of desire crossed his face as he dangled them in front of my face. I knew this would be different than the other times.

"Wanna play?" he teased, leering at me.

"You want to cuff me?" I asked, unsure.

He crawled on top of me, pressing his body against mine. "Never done it before?" Starsky pulled one of my hands up and closed the cuff on my wrist. "You've got a nice brass bed at home and a waiting pair of cuffs all this time." He pulled my other wrist up and threaded the links through a spindle at the head of the bed before closing the cuff on the other wrist. "And you've never tried it before?"

"Didn't ever come up," I said, pulling slightly at the restrictive metal of the cuffs.

He pressed his mouth to mine. "So, I'm gonna be your first?"

"Yes," I breathed back. "Always my first."

"Good," he teased, smiling. "Cause I have big plans for you."

His plans, my fantasies, converged into one that afternoon. He was gentle with me, dotting my sensitive skin with kisses as he danced his fingers over my flesh. He took me, owning me with his body and mind. I was whole again, belonging to him like I always had. I was his, he was mine, and our need to play the better man was nothing more than an unnecessary sideline. This was who we were, who we were meant to be, and my heart was open to the possibility of what would come later, after months and years of this.

It was almost painful to have to separate myself from him, but we were still needed for the case and our time together had to end. I needed to go home, get a shower, and go see Huggy to follow up on one of Mackey's contacts. Starsky needed to get to the station to see what the APB had turned up. We would have to postpone the rest of our time alone until tonight. Starsky unlocked the cuffs from my hands, but he pocketed them instead. My mind wasn't concentrating on the need for cuffs; it was concentrating on the need for Starsky.

He went into the kitchen and bagged up some stuff for me to put in my fridge, curtailing my arguments with the reminder that he'd seen what I had done to the pizza and he wasn't letting anymore food suffer the same fate. He dropped me off at my apartment, handing over our food for tonight, and telling me not to let it spoil. I wasn't sure if he was talking about the food or his latest surprise. The distraction of what might lay in store for me made me be off my game, so when I was grabbed at my place, I didn't have a chance to put up much of a fight. I should really learn to store my extra key somewhere else.

And we should really pick women who would at least learn our names. Lisa was responsible for my kidnapping, telling her captors that she had stored the money at my place. Well, she was half right. If Starsky had my name, then she'd be completely right. But he didn't, so I got to be the lucky man instead. Lisa was a lot of things, but she knew how to play every one for all they were worth.

Our captors gave her one last chance, calling Starsky at the station and telling him that they would trade me and her for the money, which she claimed she had stuffed in his laundry bag. With that set up, we were dragged out to the desert to wait for the trade.

Starsky showed up, just as directed. They had made him switch cars, but he had jumped through all their hoops and now he was ready to deal. Problem was, he wasn't going to deal on their terms. He had arrived with a briefcase full of money, like they told him to, but he was handcuffed to it. Handcuffed with my cuffs. He told our kidnappers that I had the key.

While this was going on, Lisa was trying to talk her way out of it. She wanted a cut of the money so she could disappear. They were ignoring her just as much as we'd learned to do.

They reached into my pocket for the handcuff key and we made our move, taking them both out. We arrested them, but Lisa got away. While she didn't get away with the money, neither did we. I had risked my life for Starsky's dirty clothes.

It would have been nice to say we finally arrested Lisa for the money she had stolen, but that wasn't going to be. We found her at the airport, waiting to board her flight to Algiers, but she didn't have the cash on her. She had turned it over to the insurance company and had gotten the $50,000 reward. We still had no idea where she'd hidden it, but she was free and clear and on her way out of the country. We were left with nothing to arrest her on. Ain't justice grand?

Well, at least we still had a nice evening together, just Starsky and me. A little dinner, a little peace and quiet, and a whole lot of other activities. It was almost perfect.

The next day, working the streets, it seemed like nothing could ruin what we'd become.

Until I screwed up everything. I've pulled pranks on him before, and he's done the same to me, but this time I took it too far. I thought I would teach him a lesson. I mean, his reckless pursuit of two petty crooks in a mustang ended up with him driving us through a building. He could have killed us. I decided he deserved to have someone show him what might have happened.

When I woke up in the emergency room with the worst headache of my life, faking amnesia seemed like the perfect payback. I fooled the doctor, which isn't saying much about the medical staff. I even fooled the nurse, who took pity on me as she wheeled me up to my room--our room. Starsky made it abundantly clear that we were to be in the same room. Looking back, I realize I should have dropped the act on that fact alone, but once I get determined it's hard for me to stop. And it did get more involved than I had planned, but when you're caught in a lie you either have to keep it going or get caught red-handed.

I acted terribly towards Starsky, flat out rude and unforgivable. Under the façade of not being myself, I lashed out at him, berating him. I acted like an idiot. And he took it, time and again. Every attempt I made to shut him out just made him work harder at reminding me of who I had been before. Cases, memories, people that we had known were all brought out to spark some recognition in me.

But what got me the most was that he told a total stranger about my deepest secret. So what if it was a nurse and he was trying to protect me from a relapse? He could have gone about it in a better way. That was our secret, our past, and he shouldn't have been so casual in telling others about it. I know that he was just looking out for me the only way he knew how, but it still hurt.

It wasn't just Starsky that I acted like an idiot to. No, Huggy and Dobey got caught in the crossfire, as well. Everyone who trusted me, who called me a friend, was treated horribly just because I had a point to prove. But I swore not to break, not to let my lie be discovered, even it I was getting deeper and deeper into it.

I don't think I would have ever admitted defeat if he hadn't brought out the big guns. He made me remember, made me relive in vivid detail, the time we'd had with Terry and Gillian. No matter how much of a point I thought I had to prove, I wasn't able to stand firm against those memories. He was pouring his heart out, laying bare the rawest parts of our lives. I had to give in.

"I never lost it," I admitted. "I was faking it."

"You were faking it?" he asked in disbelief.

This was bad. This was very bad. I had to make him understand I was concerned about him. "How you doing?"

"How am I doing?" he asked, voice rising.

"Uh-huh."

"I could kill you! Why? Why would you do this to me?"

He didn't understand. He didn't realize that I was doing this to teach him a lesson, to show him what could have been. I wasn't going to win this argument, even though I vainly tried. He eventually threw up his hands and went back to his bed.

"Starsk..."

"No, don't," he ordered.

"I didn't mean..."

"I don't want to hear it, Hutch. I can't hear it right now."

"But, I didn't mean to..."

"Hutch!" he raised his tone. "Don't do this now."

"I love you," I said as my voice cracked.

He didn't answer. He just looked at me, sadness spread across his face.

"I love you," I repeated.

"That isn't the important thing right now. I thought I knew you, I thought I could trust you."

"You can," I cried. "You can trust me."

"I gave you my heart, Hutch. You know what that means? And now...and now I don't even know what I'm feeling. I trusted you, I loved you, but I can't give my heart away if you're going to keep hurting me."

"Please, Starsk. Don't say that."

"We're a good team, you and me. On the streets, we're good, but I don't think I can deal with anything else right now, okay? It's too hard for me to deal with."

With that, he turned over, his back to me, ending the conversation. What could I say, anyway? It was my fault, all my fault. I did something totally stupid and this time I went too far. Whatever was going to come of this, it was all laid at my feet.

That was the beginning of the separation.

Even though we put on a brave face for Dobey, pretended that we were okay, we weren't. We worked together, but that's about all we did. It was tearing me up inside that I had caused this. We were a team, one of the best, when we were on duty. But as soon as we logged out, as soon as the need for us to be together officially was over, there was no us.

I was mad, terrified that I had screwed it up and could never bring us back to the way we had been. I kept apologizing, kept trying to erase what I had done, but Starsky wasn't ready to hear it yet. He had trusted me with his heart, and I had made him suffer because of it.

After a while, though, I became testy, tired of begging for forgiveness and having it slapped away like I didn't matter. He wasn't ready to forgive or forget, but I was willing to keep it up. Then, I just stopped asking for it. I grew angry. I had reached the point where I stopped asking, furious that he was using this as an example of why he couldn't open his heart to me. I was mad at him, I was mad at myself, and I was mad at the world that had made all of this come about.

One afternoon, we patrolled in my car and all I could do was reach out with the limited small talk I could manage. But that's all it was, just small talk. We were working in two different realms, had lost the connection that made us one, had lost the trust that sealed us together. It was a sick relief when we got called to a dead body on Allen Street, because at least then I could focus on something other than Starsky's cold shoulder.

The stiff was a cab driver named O'Connor. The ME, JeffCarboni, went over the body with me, showing me that the cause of death was a crushed trachea. The cabbie had been strangled and it looked like whoever did it had used only one hand to do it. The uniforms had worked two other cases with dead cab drivers that week alone. It looked like there was a trend: roll a cabbie and then kill him. I checked out O'Connor's cab with the rookie, Baker, but there wasn't much to go on except for the fare, $1.80 on the meter. Baker was getting on my nerves, being ever so helpful as only a rookie could be. And Starsky kept complaining that he wanted to go home. The unsaid comment that he wanted to go home _alone_ was left to linger.

But we couldn't go home; we had to work this case.

Dobey saw three cases as enough justification to pull the other investigating officers off and put us on. Three MOs exactly the same, three different witnesses gave three different accounts of the suspect's appearance. It wasn't surprising to think that we had some freak that liked to masquerade. We just had to catch him before he struck again. Which meant that someone had to go undercover as a cab driver. That led to the fourth argument of the day. At least this time it happened in the car, where we had some semblance of privacy.

"I gotta go home and change," he said, looking out the passenger window.

"Why?"

"I gotta look the part." He glanced over at me. "And I gotta get into character."

"Wait! You're just assuming you're gonna be the cabbie?" I asked.

"Well, yeah," he said, exasperated. "Who else we got?"

"Me!"

"You?" he laughed. "Yeah, right."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, voice rising.

"It's supposed to mean this is my gig and you're not taking it," he countered.

"Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that," he answered sternly. "I'm the cab driver. I always have been before, so unless you've got some new credentials I don't know about, you're working the outside."

"You wanna play it like that, fine!" I yelled, pulling the car up to the curb. "I want you over there as soon as possible. Throw on something so we can meet up."

"Fine!" he answered, jerking the car door open.

With that, I left. Still mad, still unsure why we were working with frayed ends, I headed over to the cab company to talk to the dispatcher, a Jamaican by the name of Kingston. He was helpful and aggravating at the same time. He was going to be a star someday, but the cab company paid the bills until then. Isn't that the story of everyone's life? We're just biding our time until something better comes along.

It hadn't come along fast enough for the other two victims, though. Their trip sheets showed that the last fare they picked up was at Third and Main. And wouldn't you know it, the $1.80 fare from O'Connor's cab would take him right back to Third and Main as the starting point.

Kingston was three drivers down and worried that he'd be losing more. That's when Starsky came into the picture, a perfectly willing new cab driver who wanted nothing more than to make some cash. Kingston set him up with a nice Checker cab and sent him on his way.

When Starsky left, Kingston turned his attention back to me. All the victims had driven Checker cabs, so it was a coincidence that Starsky got one, too. Maybe that would boost our chances at catching this guy. There wasn't much else he could tell me about O'Connor except that he had this lucky medallion he always wore, gold with a turquoise inlay. That was one of the things missing from the body when we found it. Trying to locate a tacky piece of costume jewelry in Bay City would be harder than finding a needle in a haystack, but when had impossible odds ever stopped us before?

But there wasn't really an _us_, right now. Instead, there were two partners working in their own worlds, trying not to step on each other's toes. Starsky had his case, working the streets undercover in hopes that he'd catch whoever was doing the killing. And I had my assignment as a wait-and-see participant. I patrolled for a while, but it became pointless. Starsky could handle himself, he had said as much time and time again, so why should I be out there?

But even going home and trying to catch some shut-eye wasn't helping. I took a shower and lay down in bed, but sleep wasn't coming. After some fitful naps, I got up to put on some clothes and leave again. I donned my letterman jacket before I went out, though. Analyzing that would yield nothing, but subconsciously maybe I was reaching back to a time when the world wasn't so screwed up. Maybe I was hoping to relive a time when Jake was still alive, or when Starsky was still inside my head and my heart. Maybe I was just trying to prove that I could pretend to be happy for a while, no matter what had happened. Whatever the reason, I went back on patrol with my protective armor on.

It was exciting to hear Starsky's voice on the radio, telling me that he was bringing in a suspect. Maybe the case would be over soon, I hoped. But maybe it was just beginning. Starsky brought in a young kid on a drug charge, but the real reason he'd taken him in was because he was wearing O'Connor's missing medallion. It looked like he might be the killer--for about an hour. But he was sticking to his story, that he'd found the medallion in the trash after some other guy threw it away. His story wasn't solid, but his alibi for the latest murder was. Victim number four had been killed at Elmwood and Fourth while we were busy questioning him. We were right back to square one again.

Baker was there again, running down the victim's information like an enthusiastic student. This time the dead guy was named Benson, a cab driver Starsky had seen around, but hadn't really talked to. There seemed to be no pattern as to who got picked, just that they drove a Checker and picked up the fare at the same place.

Starsky found something interesting, though. There was an accident report filed on Benson more than two years ago when he claimed to have hit a dog. That accident report was supposed to be confidential to the cab company, so why would Benson have it in his cab?

We found out that Benson's accidents numbered more than one and were fueled by the alcohol addiction he had. The cab company's confidential files had been broken into the day before, but that was the only one that had been taken. Starsky checked Benson's locker and found a newspaper article dated three years prior. The article discussed a car accident that seemed to be directly related to what we were dealing with now. An actor, Lionel Fitzgerald, had been badly crippled by a hit and run driver. It looked like Benson had been lying about hitting a dog. Benson got away free and clear, while Fitzgerald lost an arm, a leg, a promising career, and probably his sanity. Fitzgerald had left County General last month with no current address on file. His only relative was a grandfather by the same name at 1427 Lennox.

It was the only lead we had, so that's where we headed.

The old guy was blind, but not stupid. He lied to cover for his grandson, saying he hadn't seen him in the past two weeks, and that Lionel was living nicely over at the Ambassador Hotel, while enjoying a successful acting career at the Savoy Theatre. He seemed a little shocked when I informed him that the Savoy had been closed for over a year. He might have known where his grandson was, but the younger Fitzgerald had lied to him, too.

Now, we had a viable suspect and a motive, but we still had to find him. Which meant Starsky had to go back undercover, despite his protests, and I was busy doing research to find out anything I could on Lionel Fitzgerald III. I went through records and files and background on him all night, but nothing came of it. He had been a promising actor before the accident, but hadn't had a job or a public life since then. He had been in and out of hospitals, but didn't appear to have obtained any real help. Now he was distributing his own kind of justice on those who he thought had hurt him.

I went to see Starsky around five in the morning; I was just too tired to concentrate on the files anymore. I found him sacked out in his cab over on Main Street. He hadn't had any luck either, no fares resembling our suspect. His shift was almost over, so he was getting ready to log out. He made it abundantly clear that he was going home, alone. He was taking the phone off the hook and sleeping without me. So nothing had changed between us; we would just keep hurting each other as many times as we could, and whoever bled the least would survive.

Some old lady who was up too early got into his cab, wanting a ride. He didn't want to take this last fare, but I told her that he'd be more than happy to take her.

"Where would you be without me, huh?" I teased him.

"Home," he grumbled.

She wanted to go to the park and see the sunrise. He headed off with her; I left to go talk to old man Fitzgerald again. The sun had risen by the time I pulled up in front of his place. The old man hadn't made it out to get the morning paper yet, so I picked it up on my way in. My knocks went unanswered, so I figured maybe he was out, or too soundly asleep. I was almost ready to leave when I heard him yelling. I busted in and found him locked in the bedroom, where Lionel had put him. He kept repeating that Lionel wanted them to pay for what they had done and had dressed up in costume before he had left: a silk dress, a wig, and a shawl. The reality hit me full-force--the old lady I had forced into the cab with Starsky was Lionel. I might have just sent Starsky to his death because of my spite.

I wasn't thinking, I was just reacting. I called Starsky on the radio, but he never answered. I called into the station, but they didn't answer quickly enough. My only option was to do what I did, but it wasn't a very sane choice. I was running on adrenaline, so when I saw a Metro cab, I pulled my gun to stop it. Jumping inside, I paid no attention to the protests of the driver, Starsky's office date, KC McBride. All I cared about was getting to Starsky. I called Kingston on the radio, but he couldn't raise Starsky either.

The last time Starsky had called in was at Lincoln and Pine, so that's where we headed. His cab was stopped in front of an alley, the windshield cracked with hints of blood on it. KC took her cab down the alley in hopes of finding Starsky. She almost physically pinned Fitzgerald with her cab, but his mental state was enough to make him freeze. Starsky was lying on his side, on top of some crates. He had a head wound, probably from impacting with the windshield.

But all hopes of taking him home, getting him better, were cut off when he chose KC over me. I offered to take him to the hospital, then take him home and make sure he was okay, but he chose to go with KC instead. Yeah, why should he let his partner, the man who had taken care of him for all those years, do what he was supposed to do yet again? Why should I care that he'd rather be with someone who wouldn't tie him down, or worry if he ended up in a ditch or a hospital room? Why should I care at all? Fine, if he wanted it that way, let him go. Let him run after all the wrong lovers, and all the wrong people, and leave behind the only person who cared for him enough to stick around when he acted like a fool and made you wish you never met him.

So I went over to the Pits and took it out on a bottle of booze. I wasn't drowning my sorrows, just dulling them. I didn't need him. I didn't need to put up with him; what did it really matter anyway? He would do what he always did, go off and play, and then come back home like a wounded puppy when things didn't go like he wanted. He loved his women, he used them, he ran away from them when times got tough. I knew it, I knew all about it, but every time he did it, I was still hurt.

I was about to leave the Pits, having drained most of a bottle all on my own, when I saw her. She was sitting by the door at the end of the bar, just waiting. I didn't know for who, but I was as good as anybody, so I went over to her, putting on my best fake smile and turning on the charm that used to do something for another lover not so long ago.

"You biding your time or just waiting for me?" I asked, smiling as I sat down on the stool beside her.

She looked at me warily. "Is that supposed to be a pick-up line?"

"Well, cut me a break, it's been a long day," I joked as I stuck out my hand. "Name's Ken Hutchinson."

She paused before offering her own. "Laura...Laura Kanen."

"Well, Laura Kanen. Why are you stuck in a place like this?"

"I'm...I mean, I was waiting for someone, but it looks like he isn't gonna show."

"But I did," I pointed out, smiling at her again. This fake sincerity was gonna kill me.

"Yeah," she laughed. "I guess you did."

"What do you say we go somewhere else? Get out of this noise?"

"I'd like that," she said, slipping from her stool. "But let me go call someone first, let them know I'll be late coming home."

"You got it," I said.

And that was the beginning of a very bad decision. Laura was wonderful, but she was a lot like Vanessa, and nothing like Starsky. She didn't think she needed to be saved. She didn't think she needed to be anything other than herself, but she did think that she needed to show me how much better I could be if I just shared all my secrets with her. She wanted to cling, to be near me all the time, and have someone who would depend on her. But, I didn't need that. I needed someone I couldn't have and she wasn't it. I needed a warm body, which suited me fine for a quick roll in the sack, but every morning that I'd wake up and hope that I'd see another face, it was hers staring back at me. This wasn't moving on, this was moving in circles. Soon, she knew all my buttons and pushed them hard.

But I was tired of it. I was tired of having everyone manipulate and control me and leave me after they lied about loving me. I was tired of being hurt. She wasn't the person that I wanted to start over with. So, two weeks of pretending ended in one fight too many. She kept saying how I was closed off; how I wasn't open enough with her. I wasn't open with her because she didn't deserve to see me for what I was. She wasn't the one-and-only. She was just another step towards destroying a memory of something I once thought I could have.

I saw her about a week after she and I finally broke up. Starsky and I were working a case--some dead girl with no ID except for an ankle bracelet and a couple of knife wounds. Chickie, a young male hustler that sometimes worked the Pits, claimed to have met the guy that did it, said he saw him with a messed up leg. The dead woman had gotten off a shot before she'd been killed. But I let Starsky deal with Chickie because who should come riding by on her bicycle but Laura? Plain as day and none the worse for wear. In moments, we got right back into it. Old fights never end, you know? She was just like Van, walking into my life and destroying my sanity with a few words. I hated them for it, and I hated that the one person I wanted to love didn't even have to say the words. He could just look at my face, and all semblance of control would be gone.

By the time Laura left, Starsky had gotten zero results from questioning Chickie. I had had it. He didn't want to talk, fine. I yelled for the uniforms to book him. I didn't have time to screw around with some street kid. That put the fear in him because he broke. Gave us a name, a lead. We started searching around the bridge, hoping to find something else, and came up with a little more. The guy had tossed a couple of English cigarettes along with losing a button off his coat, Merchant Marines from the looks of it. Great, a psychotic killer who has ports of call. That's just perfect. But it was getting worse.

Laura came racing up on her bike, screaming about some guy being at her house. Not just _some_ guy, _that_ guy, our killer. Oh, we were batting a hundred that day. I was tired and mad, I've got a hostile ex-girlfriend all over me, and now a psycho killer is waiting at _her_ house. Throw in a bomb and we'd have ourselves a party. But I couldn't be tired or mad or frustrated over having yet another killer on our hands because that's not what we do. What we _do_ is suck it up and focus on the case because that's our job. Who cares if no one remembers you after all is said and done, or that no one really notices when you put your heart on the line time and time again for nothing because that's what you do.

It's who you are and no one, not even you, can change that.


	4. THE END OF THE DANCE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know what? Forget it. Forget all of this. I'm tired of falling right back into this sick little game you play. You pretend you want me and then you turn around and destroy me."

The summer of '78 was more about being cordial to one another than about getting anything resolved. I was just going through the motions, letting the heat of the summer months cover the real reason I was on a short fuse. Starsky tried to venture in, tried to get me to lighten up or have some fun, but how could I? I had a partner who didn't love me anymore, a job that was eating away at me, and a life that was not the one I'd expected when I began this whole charade. I wanted to be happy again, really, but there seemed no way to become that person again. He was gone, just like the Hutch that Van knew, and neither one of those old entities were coming back anytime soon.

Going undercover at the disco to catch a serial killer wasn't going to do much for my feelings. Starsky will go after any woman who looks capable of being had, so walking into a room full of young women with feathered hair and little clothing made him especially aggressive. My plan was to intercept him before he could make a pass. As soon as he spotted the attractive lady in the red dress, I knew he would go after her. However, I managed to move in first, leaving him to pay for the drinks. I'm sneaky when I want to be. Little did I know that the lady in the red dress was one Lizzie Thorpe, Sergeant Third Class, who was also very married. Well, at least I didn't have to worry about her and Starsky. Oh, Starsky would go after fellow cops, but never a married one, so Lizzie was safe.

When we were supposed to split up and talk to the disco's patrons, I didn't move fast enough. Starsky went to talk to the hot pants chick, while I was left with Judith. A sweet girl, but not someone I wanted to be bothered with. My overly-horny partner was out doing who-knows-what with a woman who looked like she would fall into bed with him with just a word. She was throwing herself at him on the dance floor, and he just loved it, grinding against her, as if they were the only people in the room. I was trying to pay attention to what Judith was telling me, details she remembered that might be vital to the case, but I kept watching Starsky the whole time, lapping up all his sexuality, even if it wasn't directed at me.

I don't think I was over-stepping my boundaries; I was just trying to protect him. These women didn't know what he needed, and he certainly didn't need them. I just didn't want to see him get his heart broken. Thankfully, the song soon ended and he gave up the girl to join Judith and me at the table. I had taken a seat, but Judith remained standing, nursing her drink. Lizzie was still on the dance floor with some guy who must've looked like a good prospect--that is, a good prospect to be a suspect.

"Hey, you looked pretty good out there," I joked with him, trying to cover up my longing.

"Yeah," he laughed as he sat down. "I'm a great dancer when I have the right partner."

I stared at him, wondering if I should make a comment.

Judith beat me to it. "So, you guys are partners?"

"That's right, sweetheart," Starsky purred.

The man didn't have an off button, apparently. Woman equaled sex in his mind. Judith wasn't even close to his type, but he was still flirting with her anyway. Didn't he realize what he was doing? What he was doing to me?

Judith was just lapping it up, though. "It's so hard to find an upstanding man in a place like this," she said, glancing at the dance floor, then back to Starsky. "It's hard to find a man, period."

I could have told her that. Well, it wasn't too hard to find a _man_; it was just hard getting him to see what you could offer. Relationships were difficult enough when both parties were at the same level, but when they were in totally different places it made it pretty much impossible.

I turned back to the dance floor. Lizzie and her dance partner, Martin, had won a prize in the dance contest. I wasn't really listening to the announcer. I was too focused on Starsky and the conversation. Judith was fawning over him again, making mooneyes at him.

"Say, um, who's that other guy who's been sitting next to Marty?" Starsky asked.

"I dunno," Judith said, picking up on the fact that he was a lost cause. "But if you fellas are so interested in _guys_, you're in the wrong club."

With that she left us. We looked at one another, partially in fear and partially in a joking manner. Did she know? Could she tell?

I was wishing we _could_ be in the right club. Then I wouldn't have to watch Starsky grind into some no-name girl when all I really wanted to do was dance with him myself. But, we couldn't do that in public. It wasn't allowed, wasn't manly, wasn't fitting with the image we had made. Well, the image that Starsky had made, at least. I couldn't care less one way or the other.

If he had said let's run off together, I seriously think I would have done it at this point. I just wanted to make him happy, keep him safe, let him see that life didn't have to be sad all the time.

But life was always sad on the streets. Ray Pardee was a prime example of that. He was out of jail, not legally, of course, but when did that ever stop him? The APB had been out on him for three days and we still didn't have a clue as to where to find him. After a week of dead ends, it was a relief to look forward to the weekend.

It had taken a lot of arm-twisting, but I had finally convinced Starsky to come over and spend some time with me, just the two of us. He couldn't find a willing date, so hanging out with me and relaxing didn't seem like such a bad option. I was sure, though, that if he found a willing lady he'd beg off fast.

We'd have to go out to get dinner if we had any hopes of getting fed this weekend. My house was empty, shelves bare of anything that could be called a meal. I even had to swipe a can of soup from Ricky down in Robbery, just so I could have something to eat until we got off shift. I don't know what grossed out Starsky more, the fact that I was eating clam chowder cold or that I didn't even have the good grace to put it in a bowl. I was eating canned soup, what kind of grace was I supposed to have?

If he couldn't get me on my eating habits, he tried to get me on my ego. Who was the better cop? Well, me of course. Oh, Starsky was good, but I was clearly the brains of the outfit. Anyone could see that.

Dobey sent us over to Ray Pardee's girlfriend on stakeout. We hadn't gotten any closer to catching him, but any tip's a good tip, so we had to take it. We finally spotted Pardee, walking out of the house with his lady. Unfortunately, we didn't catch him, even though we had the chance. How was I to know my car would cut off at the critical moment? It was an unfortunate coincidence. But Starsky didn't see it that way. To him, it was just one more strike in the long line of strikes he had against my car.

He complained the whole time we were waiting for Merle's tow truck to come pick up my car. He complained the whole way over to his apartment to pick up the Torino. And he complained the whole way over to the Pits. He just wouldn't let up, even trying to bring Huggy and his new waitress, Anita, into it.

Then he switched back to the discussion of who was a better cop again. I was tired of him thinking he knew me, inside and out. He may have thought he did, but I was out to prove that I still had a few tricks up my sleeve. And what do we do when we have something to prove? That's right, we make another bet. The stakes were higher this time, two weeks' salary riding on a game of hide-and-seek. If he could find me before the weekend was up, he won. If not, I would be proven right.

We went back to the station to shower and change and go over the rules. I'd sleep in a place we both knew every night and check in with someone we both knew every day. That way, he wouldn't have to worry I was dead, and I wouldn't have to worry about him popping a blood vessel when he couldn't find me until Monday. And he wouldn't find me until Monday, I was sure of that.

I bid him well, wished him luck, and left him to play hide-and-go-seek. A good night's sleep, a quick cup of coffee, and I was ready to start our little adventure. Of course, I'd be in disguise, so I started putting on my new attire. I was going greasy, black wig and black mustache, looking like a rejected dockworker.

I even called Starsky, though I knew that at six in the morning he wouldn't be as alert and awake as I was. I wanted to gloat about my plans, telling him that I was about to pick up a car, and then I'd be on my way. For someone who wasn't awake, though, he sure thought he knew me. He described the car I was thinking about getting, right down to the model color. Well, fine, if he wanted to play that way, I could play dirty, too. Forget the compact, I'd get something flashier. If he could go undercover in an eyesore, so could I.

I paid Merle extra to make sure he wouldn't talk. For what he was charging me to store the LTD, he shouldn't talk anyway. But he promised that no word would pass his lips about my whereabouts.

I drove over to the California Hotel to grab a room. Starsky said to stay somewhere we both knew, and we both knew Ernie, the desk clerk. A snitch can be good for a lot of things, even this. Ernie didn't recognize me, so that gave me some hope that the outfit was really working out. I gave him a story about how I was hiding out from Starsky and Hutch, and didn't want to be found. Ernie, eager to get involved with anyone who might give him money, went on about how dumb "those two cops" were and how he only gave them a little information to keep them coming back for more.

It was weird hearing him put me down right to my face, but I reminded myself I wasn't Hutch this weekend. I was a low rent crook who was trying to stay under the radar. He gave me a room and promised to cover for me if the cops came looking. Gotta love a snitch who would stab you in the back right to your face, huh?

It was about time to change disguises, so I transformed myself into an old man, right down to the white beard. Then I headed over to the Pits to check up on Starsky's progress. I knew that'd be the first place he'd look; he was so predictable.

Sure enough, the Torino was parked right out front. I got self-conscious for a minute, wondering if Starsky would see through my disguise. But when he came out with Huggy, he didn't recognize me. I played it up, trying to get him to buy a pencil from me. Nope, not even a hint of recognition from my voice. This was going smoother than I thought. He drove off like a madman, as usual, while Huggy took pity on me and bought my last pencil. Huggy's got a good heart; I can say that about my friend.

I headed down the street and stopped in a phone booth to call Starsky. What good's a victory if you can't gloat? Dispatch put me through to his radio. I told him how he had missed me when I was right in front of his face. He didn't take that too well, even tried to give up the game, telling me I had won. No way was that gonna happen. If I gave in now, he'd just insist that if we'd gone through the whole weekend like we'd planned, he would have eventually found me. Nope, he'd have to win this one fair and square.

I stripped down to a younger version of a homeless guy so I could fit in with the crowd over at the North Star Mission. A couple of uniforms came in ten minutes after I did. I crouched down next to the guy beside me, not wanting to be found out. Starsky couldn't even play the game alone; he had to bring in the whole police force. Well, that just goes to prove who's the smartest of the pair, doesn't it?

After the uniforms left, I waited a while to make sure they weren't hanging around. When I was sure the coast was clear, I went back to the California Hotel and changed into my greasy persona. Solitaire can get increasingly boring when there's no one there to cheer you on. Usually, Starsky would be right over my shoulder telling me to move this card here or put that card over there. When you're playing alone, it just doesn't seem fun anymore.

I was on my third game when Ernie knocked. I got back into character, making sure my appearance was okay, before telling him to come on in. He was excited to share his news, figuring I'd be as happy as he was when I found out. But his news was the worst thing that I could hear. Starsky had gotten shot at the Pits, interfering with some kind of hold-up.

I couldn't think straight; I didn't want to believe that Ernie was telling the truth. I paid Ernie $50 to go over to the Pits and check the story out, praying that it was just a bad piece of gossip. Alone in my room, my thoughts circled around Starsky. What if he was really hurt? What if I couldn't get to him in time? What if he died? No, no, I couldn't think about that now. I didn't even know if it was true. I'd have to wait until Ernie called and confirmed.

While I was waiting, I sat down and tried to resume my game. Fat chance, since I was even less interested in cards than before. I wandered around the hotel, pacing and snarling at people who were hanging around. It was an eternity until the phone rang. I grabbed it, not wanting to hear what Ernie had found out, but needing to.

He confirmed my worst fear. Anita, Huggy's waitress, wasn't faking. Starsky had been shot, and I wasn't there.

I raced over to the hospital, not caring that I was breaking every traffic law. I had to get there, had to get to Starsky. I still thought, in the back of my mind, that this could be a trick. It had to be a ploy to get me there, because the alternative was not an option. Starsky couldn't be hurt; he couldn't be dying because I just couldn't allow that to happen.

After convincing the nurse that I had a reason to be asking where Starsky's room was, I swiped some scrubs and sneaked upstairs to that floor. What if he was alone? Scared about what had happened to him? And I wasn't there when he woke up. He must be so lost right now, so alone.

It was a mixture of relief and anger when I saw Dobey with two of the detectives from our squad, Simmons and Babcock, joking around about Starsky being okay. It was a trick, a dirty trick to get me to lose the bet. How could Starsky do that to me? How could he put me through so much anguish over a stupid game? He was playing with me for a fool and didn't even care.

I would never give up now. Even if he begged, I wouldn't give up just to prove my point. I went down to the nurse's station and wrote out a hasty note. "Dear Starsky—Close, but no cigar. Love, Hutch." I paused, considering. What if he got the wrong idea from that? I had to lighten it up a little, show him that it was all in good fun. I tacked on, "PS: How much of a cut did you promise Dobey and Huggy?" I handed the note over to the nurse on duty, asking her to read it to Starsky . I watched her go to his room before I made my escape. He wouldn't get me, wouldn't win this bet if my life depended on it. I was a good cop, a better cop than Starsky would ever give me credit for, and after this weekend I'd prove it to him.

By the time I got back to the hotel, my throat was starting to hurt. I must've been coming down with something. I asked Ernie if he had anything for a cold, but he blew me off. Screw him, I'd get my own drugs. Leaving the hotel, though, I saw something that made me stop in my tracks. Ray Pardee's girlfriend was getting into a cab right across the street. This was no longer just a game; this involved a case. I could catch Ray Pardee and win the bet, too.

I raced back inside the hotel and grabbed the phone off Ernie's desk. I got the cab company on the phone and had them trace the destination for me. Ernie was starting to inch away, realizing now who I really was, but I yelled for him to stop. The dispatcher gave me a fix on the cab's destination at 722 Prospect. Ernie was still frozen in place, but I decided I'd deal with him later. I did make him promise that he wouldn't tell Starsky where I was before I left.

By the time I got to Pardee's girl's place, I was sweating. This stupid illness was giving me a fever. That's all I needed, to have to call off the bet on account of sickness. I entered her apartment and pressured her to tell me where Ray was hiding. She denied everything until I discovered the plane tickets. Ray "Samuels" had a plane booked and cash for traveling. This didn't look good for her. Being an accessory was the least of her worries.

She balked, but finally agreed to take me to him. On the way out the door, the illness suddenly hit me hard. Like a bolt, pain ripped through my body. But as fast as it came, it left. It stunned me for a minute and made me feel worse than before, but it didn't stop me. I could still get Pardee, and then worry about what was wrong with me later.

By the time we arrived at Pardee's hiding place, my throat was killing me, I was sweating, and my vision had started to blur. Still, I focused on getting Pardee. I busted into Ray's apartment with my gun drawn, but my vision didn't allow me to get a good fix on him. I tried to look convincing as a strong-armed cop ready to take him in. Instead, I looked like a weak-kneed rookie with a bad costume.

The pain got to be too much, giving him the upper hand. He ended up holding me at gunpoint with my own weapon. I had no hope of being saved. This stupid game had cut me off from my one chance, from Starsky. My bull-headedness was going to get me killed. Why did I do this? Why did I have to prove my worth at the cost of my own life? I was at Pardee's mercy, waiting to die by my own gun.

He had sent his girlfriend back to her place to pick up the money and the tickets, leaving me alone with him. I faded in and out, while still trying to use some mental tactics when his girlfriend failed to return, but that didn't work. He grew tired of my games and of waiting for her, hauling me up and out the door. The shock of fresh air hit me before he pushed me down the stairs. Roughly, he hoisted me up again and threw me into his car. I was just trying to survive.

But then, gentle hands were on me. I opened my eyes and tried to focus. The image in front of me looked like Starsky, but it couldn't be. I was surely hallucinating because how else could I explain it? Starsky wasn't going to find me; he wasn't going to save me in time. I would die, alone and hurting, because of the foolish decisions I had made. It was a blessing when the darkness came, but a cruel twist to hear the sound of someone with Starsky's voice assuring me that it would be okay.

I don't know how long I was out. It could have been ten minutes or ten months, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that suddenly it was bright and no longer dark. When I eased my eyes open, I shut them back with a moan. It was too bright and my head felt like someone had bashed it in. But then the gentle hands were back, wiping my face with a cool cloth. That soothing voice, too, was trying to pull me out of my fitful rest. I opened my eyes again and saw Starsky. He was gazing at me and calling my name.

"Starsky?" I rasped out. My throat was on fire.

"Shh, don't talk."

"Ow, my throat hurts."

"I know, I know. The antitoxins will take a while to work." He sighed, running his hand along my cheek. "I thought you weren't gonna make it."

I took a struggling breath. "Why? Because of Pardee? He wasn't so tough." I tried to laugh.

"No, not Pardee, you dummy. Because of the botulism."

I was having a Twilight Zone moment. Who said anything about botulism? "You been reading the medical journals again?" I joked weakly. "What are you talking about?"

"You got botulism from that damned cold soup you were eating."

Cold soup? Oh yeah, that can I swiped. But, botulism? "Did they...?"

"I found you in time. Don't worry," he said, petting my face again. "Just rest, okay? Everything's all right now."

"Guess...guess this means I owe you a week's salary," I managed to say.

"Shhh, I got my reward. Just rest now."

As I drifted off to sleep again, I could feel him near me. He was there, I was safe, and now I could rest. I was tired of our games, tired of almost losing out every time. I just wanted us to be safe, to be happy, and I didn't want to prove anything anymore. Why did we have to keep challenging each other? It never proved anything except how much we could hurt one another. I was tired of hurting him and hurting myself. I was beginning to forget what happiness felt like.

He took care of me, like he always did. Every day I had to spend in the hospital, he was there. When I came home, he was there. He even got into the habit of bringing me food, warning me to not touch anything in my kitchen. Even though I hadn't gotten sick from what was in my house, I was still more than happy to let him take over feeding me for a while. I wanted to cleanse myself, make myself happy again.

I even got the Buddy Holly record I had been searching for. Only eight signed copies in the world, and I got one for myself. And I had started meditating again. That's what I was doing when Starsky came in with pizza for our supper. He wasn't a big fan of the whole meditation gig, but he was game to experiment, so I tried to teach him a few things.

That night we instituted a new rule. Starsky wasn't allowed to do two things at once if one involved a priceless collector's album and the other involved an oven. He was very apologetic about the whole thing, but to me it was just fate screwing around with me again.

But fate wasn't through with us, not by a long shot.

We stretched ourselves to the breaking point and one Sunday, the rubber band snapped. It was supposed to be a simple bust. Take down the suspects of a jewelry heist, and then spend a quiet Sunday cruising. But, that wasn't the way it worked out. There were two thieves involved in the robbery, so we split up. I quickly caught my suspect, but that's when I heard the shots. I dragged my prisoner out to the street and saw Starsky kneeling over a girl collapsed on the sidewalk. I cuffed my suspect to a tree and went over to my partner.

I asked him what happened, thinking the thief he'd been pursuing had injured her during his escape. Starsky turned to me with sad eyes and admitted that he had shot her. It was an accident, a crummy accident, but it destroyed Starsky.

I yelled for someone to call an ambulance, but all I could focus on was the man in front of me. He was heartbroken, inconsolable. No amount of reassurance would convince him he wasn't at fault. He had shot an innocent girl; that's all he could see. It was worse than when he'd shot Lonnie Craig. Lonnie had been involved in a crime, had been armed, and was about to take a shot at Starsky. This woman had no involvement with this crime, had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Back-up finally arrived, and the attendants loaded the girl in their ambulance. Starsky wanted to go with her, to make sure she was okay. He looked at me, as if asking permission, which I quickly gave. I'd deal with the paperwork; that was understood. My heart was heavy as I watched them pull away, my partner and his unintentional victim. But I couldn't focus on that now. I had to get everything taken care of at the station so I could rejoin him at the hospital.

I went back and questioned my suspect. His name was Kenny Widdicombe. He wouldn't tell me anything about his accomplice, wouldn't even anything more than his name, and his request for a lawyer.

The name sounded familiar, so I ran it. He was the younger brother of Donald Widdicombe, noted for priors in robbery, assault, and vandalism. It was a good bet that Kenny was covering for his older brother. I put an APB out on Donald, just in case. By the time everything was filed, in triplicate, the day was almost over.

I joined Starsky at the hospital, hoping there was something he had seen or heard that could give us some useful information on this case. But he was even less help than Kenny was. He was wallowing in self-pity, and depressed. He knew only that the shooting victim's name was Emily Harrison, and that he had shot her. Starsky pointed to another woman waiting across the room, and told me that she was Emily's next door neighbor. Emily was an artist and had been on her way home from art class when she had gotten hit. He was acting like a victim himself, not like a cop. Browbeating himself wasn't going to help, but he couldn't see that.

Dispatch called me at the hospital to tell me that they'd picked up Donald Widdicombe. Finally, a break. I told them I'd be down in half an hour to question him.

Emily's next-door neighbor wanted nothing to do with Starsky. When Emily's doctor came out, he treated Starsky the same way. Emily was alive, but she had been blinded, and only had a 50/50 chance of ever recovering her sight. Now, she was a burden of guilt Starsky had to carry.

I took him back to his place so he could rest. He could worry about the paperwork later. I'd deal with Donald Widdicombe myself. That bastard had caused all this to happen and he'd pay.

But four hours later, Widdicombe and I were still dancing. I tried to break him, pulling the tough cop routine, but it seemed unbalanced without Starsky to back me up.

The next time I went to the squadroom, Starsky was there. I told him to go back home, but he waved me off, insisting that he needed to do something constructive.

Both Donald and his brother got out on bail and I was left with nothing. I'd have to prove Widdicombe's guilt the hard way. That was fine with me; he wasn't going to get away with it.

Starsky finished his paperwork, but got this idea to experiment with being blind by putting on a blindfold for an hour. When he fnally left the squadroom Dobey told him to take some time off, but to call when he was ready to come back.

But he didn't call. He didn't call me; he didn't call Dobey. He didn't call anyone. And he wouldn't answer his phone.

The first day I figured he just needed some time to himself. I concentrated on the case. I checked in with Huggy to see if he could turn up anything on Donald or his brother. I patrolled the streets, talking to snitches for any clue as to what was going on with those two. I found out less about the Widdicombe brothers, but more about Starsky.

He had been seen around town with a blind girl on his arm. Starsky was taking on the responsibility of Emily's well-being.

I feigned ignorance every time a snitch would tell me about the cop and the blind girl. This continued for three days.

I'd call Starsky but never got an answer. I'd go by his place, but his car was never there, I'd talk to people on the streets, come back to the station, and bury myself in paperwork. Even Dobey started to get concerned that Starsky was getting so involved with Emily. He told me to check her out. She was our only witness to the robbery. We needed more information about that, and Starsky wasn't the best person to get it right now.

I checked out Emily's story, and found out that she was indeed at the art class like she had said. But she had left the class early for some reason. I filed that information away and went to talk to Pinky, a disreputable fence Starsky and I both hated dealing with.

Donald Widdicombe would have to fence the stolen jewels, and Pinky was the fence that would most likely handle them. If I could get to Pinky, I might be able to get to Donald. But just like with Donald, bad cop/good cop only works when you've got a partner. I hoped Pinky took my threats seriously, but I had no way of knowing.

I set up a sting scenario with Huggy, in case the situation with Pinky worked out like I hoped. Huggy would pretend to buy the stolen jewels, so I could catch Pinky in the act of fencing them. If I could catch Pinky and threaten him with serious hard time, I could make him give up Donald.

Two more days of silence passed. Starsky still wouldn't talk to me. The streets were quiet about Donald, but buzzing about the blind girl.

I leaned on Kenny Widdicombe hard, but he wouldn't squeal on his brother. He either had a sense of family honor, or else he knew that his brother would just as soon turn on him as anyone else.

Going over to Starsky's place seemed the only option. It had been five days of silence and I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to end this case as soon as possible so I could concentrate on my partner and his disintegration. He was pulling away from me, and if he kept it up there would be nothing left for me to reconnect with.

Typically, he tried to run away from me. He didn't want to hear about the case, so he kept moving away from me. It was as if he thought that if he could put a few feet between us, my words wouldn't hurt as much. I kept trying to reach him, but he kept slipping farther and farther away.

I couldn't watch him do this to himself. I told him that I loved him, his caring nature, and everything that made him who he was, but I had to walk away while he worked through this pain on his own.

While Starsky worked on his internal struggles, I had a case to solve. Huggy set up a meeting between himself and Pinky, calling me the next morning to confirm. I had twenty minutes to get in place and catch Pinky red-handed. I hid beneath the bar, hiding but close enough to hear everything that was said, and get into the action when it all went down.

Pinky got jumpy, afraid that Huggy was stiffing him, so he pulled a gun. When he leaned over the bar, I brought him down. Face to face, we squared off. I gave him a choice: spilling everything he knew about Donald or going to a not so nice jail cell for a very long sentence. Smart man, he chose to squeal.

"You gonna tell me what I wanna know?" I growled as I handcuffed him.

"Okay, okay!" he relented. "I'm talking."

"Tell me about Donald," I ordered, grabbing him by the collar.

"I'm supposed to drop the money off to him so he can take his old lady and get out of here."

"What old lady?" I asked, my hands tightening on his shirt.

"The blind one...ummm, Emily something."

"Emily Harrison?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, that's the one! She was supposed to be his lookout at the heist. Except, she got in the way."

"How sure are you?"

"I saw them together before. They're tight."

" What kind of car does he drive?"

"A green 73 Ford. He parks it in the garage down by the pharmacy, Space 27."

I turned to leave. I had to get to Emily's house. Maybe Donald hadn't gotten to her yet. Maybe Pinky was wrong and Emily was just an innocent bystander like we'd thought. Or maybe I was just wanting to save Starsky again. Either way, I had to get to Emily before anybody else got hurt.

When I busted into her apartment, gun drawn, it took me a few seconds to realize that the man I was squaring off with _was_ Starsky. It was just him, alone, no Emily or Donald or Kenny. But he didn't want to hear the truth, how Emily was a part of this whole case and how she wasn't the innocent girl that had accidentally gotten in the way. Soon, he realized that Pinky had nothing to gain by lying. She _was_ part of this whole mess, and he had been duped just as badly as anyone.

Now, she was gone, and Donald was, too. Her neighbor came in and told us that Donald had taken her back to his place, to pick up the money and head for Hawaii.

Starsky and I took my car to patrol the garage. Sure enough, Donald's car was right where Pinky had said it'd be. Then we saw them, Donald and Emily and Kenny, together, coming out of the building. Starsky got out, wanting to deal with it on his own. I sat ready in the car, waiting for whatever might happen.

Sure enough, it all blew up. Emily yelled that Donald had a gun, and that guaranteed everyone would run. Starsky and Donald had it out, while I chased Kenny with the car. I caught him, threw him onto the hood and cuffed him, then told him to stay put as I drove back to where Starsky and Donald were. My partner had already subdued Donald. When I started walking towards them, Starsky handed his suspect over so he could go to Emily. As I watched him hold her, make sure she was okay, I realized that he was relieving some of the guilt he had carried. It wouldn't make up for the shooting, but he was beginning to let go of the self-doubt he had built up over protecting her, being a cop, doing his job.

She got off easy, with a little help from us. The judge would probably give her a suspended sentence since she'd helped us out. Best of all, her eyesight was returning. Starsky was incredibly pleased to tell me that the doctor thought she'd make a full recovery. He didn't have to pay penance for her blindness anymore.

However, talking about her blindness and his brief foray into sightlessness led me to overstep my bounds. I bet him that I could do just fine with a blindfold on, at least better than he had.

But this was my partner we were talking about. He played dirty pool better than anyone. So, when I went in search of the bathroom, I ended up out the front door and tumbling down the stairs, instead.

I landed at the bottom of the stairs bruised and battered, but not seriously injured. I tore off the blindfold and looked up. There he was, standing at the top of the stairs. Not concerned, not worried, but smiling at me. He was smiling as if he were pleased that I had almost killed myself because of his idea of a joke.

"Are you crazy?" I yelled.

"No more than usual," he said, walking down the steps.

"I could have broken my neck, you idiot!" I snapped, pushing myself to a sitting position.

"Payback's a bitch, ain't it?" he asked, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. He reached his hand out to me. "Come on."

"This is your idea of payback?" I asked, disbelieving.

"I'm tired, Hutch," he said as he pulled me up. "I'm tired of fighting and I'm tired of being mad."

"So you try to kill me?"

"I made us even," he explained, turning to go back up the stairs.

I watched him walk up the steps and go inside. Of course I followed. Where else would I go? When I got through the door, he was already sitting in the living room. I closed the door behind me and went to sit with him.

"Why do we do this to each other?" he asked me.

I shrugged. "Because we're idiots?"

"Or stupid," he added, taking a deep breath. "I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of hurting you, and I'm tired of you hurting me. We used to be so good together, you know?"

"We're still good together."

He looked me right in the eyes, like he was trying to make me understand some deep dark secret. "Do you know how many times I tried to not love you? Every time you made me feel good, I tried to make it stop. Then you'd hurt me or I'd hurt you, and I felt like I could walk away from needing you. But I couldn't." He put his hand on my face. "Do you know how many times I tried not to need you?"

I brought his hand to my lips, placing a soft kiss in his palm. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I made you hurt, and I'm sorry that I'm such a fool for doing it. But don't ever be sorry for loving me. I'm not."

He let his hand linger in mine for a moment before pulling away. "So now what?"

"We pick up the pieces and deal with it."

"And hurt each other all over again?"

"It doesn't have to be about the hurt. Please, just try to love me and I'll show you that it doesn't have to hurt." I put my hands on each side of his face, pulling him forward for a long-awaited kiss. "Please?"

"I missed you so much, you know that?" he sighed.

"I'm right here," I soothed. "I'll be right here."

And we were good again. The pain, the destruction that we had caused one another, was erased when we could let ourselves love again. There was no more competing to prove who was stronger; no more need to show that one of us could outlast the other, because we didn't need to survive alone anymore. It was the best part of our lives when we could stop running and start looking towards one another again. The love that we had wasn't threatened by simple teasing or women in passing.

~~~

We went to a fancy dress party with Marcy, a photographer Starsky knew, and got thrown right into the middle of a murder case, tracking down suspects and figuring out clues in the midst of Bay City high society. It figured that the root of the whole thing would be something as simple as love. Crimes of passion leave a bloody mark.

Starsky had this idea to enter a dance contest. Let me rephrase that. He got excited over the prospect of showing off his moves and bringing Ramón out of retirement. A girl he'd met at the disco, Roxy, convinced him that with his talent and her looks, they could win an easy $200 in the dance contest. Which was why he was twisting his butt in front of me and the rest of the world when I came out of the burger joint with our lunches. I'm holding a greasy bag of food and staring at my lover doing unmentionable things by the car while reading "The Anglo's Guide to Latin Disco."

Dancing and eating had to be put off because we got a 211 call from the warehouse district. It was a fairly standard case: two guys stealing supplies from the loading docks. The weird thing was that they were stealing sugar. They weren't doing too hot, though, when we finally caught up with them. They seemed to be suffering from a serious illness .We called for back up and an ambulance.

By the time we got back to the apartment, I didn't have food on my mind. I was interested in helping Starsky practice his dance technique, more horizontal than vertical. He was very willing to oblige, pressing his body onto mine as we wandered towards the bedroom. Our sex was better now that we'd gotten rid of all the problems that had been haunting us. When there was nothing to prove, there was more to share. Our stomachs weren't concerned about the lack of nourishment when our minds were concentrating on more important tasks. We fell asleep in each other's arms, happy once again.

Starsky detoured on the way to the station the next morning, saying that he needed some food since we hadn't gotten that far last night. Like it was my fault. He's got an endless appetite, that's all I can say. So he found food while I found files.

I'd almost gotten through the backlog before Dobey caught me. Our simple robbery had turned into a homicide, because our plowboys didn't survive. I waited for Starsky, but he wasn't back by the time Dobey wanted us in his office, so I left him a note. His stomach would get us in trouble one of these days.

Thankfully, he arrived at the same time the Treasury agent James Kendell did, so we didn't have to wait. Oh yes, the Treasury was involved in this because of what the guys had been doing before they died. They had succumbed to bad booze, tainted moonshine, cut with wood alcohol to increase its volume. Wood alcohol, unfortunately, is toxic. A lot of bars on the outside of town that served a down-home clientele often purchased illegal alcohol, and were now prime targets for this poisoned moonshine. And guess who had to check out every one of them? Welcome to the world of undercover police work.

We headed over to talk to one of Huggy's friends who owned the thrift store downtown. He set us up with appropriate clothing to blend into the scenery. Starsky made the inane comment that he could easily pass as a redneck. I had to laugh at that, picturing Starsky as a country bumpkin.

Starsky almost got us into a fight before he even got inside the doors of the first bar. He roared in with the Torino and kicked up dust all over a big man, who was clearly waiting for a brawl. Starsky charmed his way out of it, though, just like always. It worked on me, didn't it?

We went in with the cover of being boys from Alabama. That sat well with the big guy, pleased him to no end to see a couple of good old boys out west. Pleased him so much that we became his drinking buddies. I talked my way into a beer, but poor old Starsky had to be the guinea pig and swallow some of the suspect liquor. He didn't want to, but one of us had to, and he was the one who said he could fit right in. I told him to take a sip. But he never does anything halfway.

One glass turned into two, then four, and by the time our new friend took his leave Starsky had taken down half the jug. He was certainly feeling no pain, I'll give him that. He even fell off the barstool and I had to pick him up. I goosed him when I was resuscitating him, just to see if he was conscious enough to function. It was a wasted trip, anyway, because Rudy, the bartender, didn't know much about his supplier. All he knew was that some pretty girl in a yellow pick-up came by and took back most of his batch.

That meant we would have to track some pretty girl in a yellow truck all over Bay City.

Needless to say, Starsky wasn't going to be driving anywhere. My partner couldn't even tell which side of the car he was on, so I managed to get the keys away from him. I teased him about his shoes, too. He rode around with his head in my lap all the way back into town, passed out from all that booze.

I finally found him a cup of coffee to help him start sobering up, a painful process. He complained the whole time we were tracking leads, consuming cup after cup of strong, black liquid. I think I liked him better when he was blasted. We went through most of the list before we spotted our mysterious lady in yellow.

My driving abilities were no match for her, but it did cause Starsky to throw up. I blame the liquor and the coffee, not my driving, but you couldn't convince him of that. While he was preoccupied, I took the call from Dobey that we had another undercover gig to do. Kendall, the Treasury agent, had been sent to the Old Backwoods Inn on a lead about the bootleggers, but he'd been killed. So that left us next in line for his job.

We couldn't just wander in there as patrons, we had to have a hook. That led to Starsky's outlandish suggestion that I should pretend to be a country western guitar player. I questioned his sobriety, but he assured me that he was stone cold sober after the gallons of coffee I had poured into him. And what would he be in this little charade? My agent, a flashy guy who was also my friend. I made it abundantly clear that I might pretend to have an act, but there was no way was I going onstage. There was a big difference between my serenading Starsky in the comfort of our apartments and putting on a stage show for a crowd of drunks. He promised it wouldn't get that far. I believed him, stupidly.

After we had changed clothes and grabbed my guitar, we headed over to the station. There was no way we could be seen in the Torino if we had any chance of pulling off this act. Starsky went down to the police garage to pick up a truck from one of our friends. Why a Detective First Class with a souped-up pick-up would trust Starsky with his pride and joy was a mystery.

I went up to see Dobey to give him the lowdown on our cover before joining Starsky. "CW Jackson" and his manager, "John Stovall," would be making the rounds at the Backwoods Inn that night. It was amateur night, so it seemed like the perfect cover. That is, unless someone asked me to get up on stage and prove my worth.

The one thing I didn't want to do, I had to do. The bartender got me up on stage to do some picking. It wasn't all that bad once I got into it. I fell into a nice rhythm with the back-up guys and Starsky was in the audience cheering me on, sometimes a little too loudly. He loved seeing me sing and it showed on his face every time I picked up my guitar. It was different than singing just for him. Alone, I could pour my heart out, but up on stage, in public, I was like a deer in the headlights. As long as I concentrated on Starsky, I could pretend we were all alone and it was just him and me.

I finally finished my set and came back over to join him at the bar. We made the right kinds of noises, pretending to be good old boys whose main line was delivering moonshine to every county back home. The bartender hooked us up with Willie and another guy, along with our yellow pick-up girl. Starsky made me take the business with the boys so he concentrated his efforts on the girl. Same old Starsky, just like always.

Willie needed some proof that we were as good as we said , so he set us up to deliver 25 bags of sugar to a farm on 105. Dobey was none to happy about having the city supply the goods to a couple of bootleggers, but if we wanted them caught, we'd have to pay.

Willie thought he'd be slick and take our truck, with the sugar in the back, up to the still by himself. If we let that truck out of our sight and it ended up like most of our undercover vehicles, we'd never live it down. So Starsky jumped in the back as Willie took off with our goods. I stole a dirt bike to follow them.

I did manage to call Dobey from a roadside phone booth to request back-up, but I lost the truck along the way. There were a lot of winding dirt roads up there and a lot of places Willie could've hidden. But he couldn't hide long. We managed to take them down fast and clean. No one got hurt--except for Starsky.

Honestly, I didn't know his foot was under that drum when I sat on it. It wasn't like I planned to sprain his ankle so he'd miss the dance contest. I think he was madder that I stole Roxy away from him than he was about the fouled up way we nailed our man. A girl's gotta dance, and it would've be a shame to waste that potential prize just because my partner had an accident.

I felt bad, though, when I went out on the town with Roxy and left him home alone. I felt even worse when I came back and found his kitchen destroyed, blood on the butcher knife, and him sitting on the couch sucking his injured thumb. There were carrots splattered along the cabinet, so I could only assume that he'd missed one of them and cut his thumb instead. He waved me off, growling that he didn't need to be taken care of, that he was perfectly fine by himself while I went out flashing my body all over town.

He forgave me, though, when I convinced him that the only person I wanted to be flashing my body at was him. Besides, Roxy gave up on me after she saw my awkward moves, which hardly passed for dancing. The two hundred dollars went to some young couple from Frisco. Roxy left me in a huff to go off with some guy she met at the bar.

I made Starsky let me look at his thumb, wrapping it for him while assuring him that it didn't look so bad. We had a quiet dinner together, just the two of us, but he was still mad that I had sabotaged his chances of winning the dance contest. By the time he was ready to go to bed, he'd forgiven me enough to let me at least sleep with him. It wasn't bad, really. Just a little lover's quarrel.

~~~

We had an uneventful day after that. I drove since it was my turn, but it was better for him to ride shotgun until his thumb healed. Nothing was going on in the streets. We picked up a junkie ripping off a purse over on Seventh and went to a reported break-in that ended up being a false alarm. The Tagget murder case wasn't going so well, either. Nothing but dead ends that led us right back to the same theory: Tagget had made somebody mad and that somebody was long gone by now.

The world didn't treat Tagget very well and it seemed to be gunning for me, too. We were heading back to the station before dinner. Paperwork had to be more exciting than wasting my gas. I parked out front, but accidentally parked three inches over the line. Three inches!

Of course, O'Reilly, a young female traffic cop, didn't care about that. No, all she cared about was writing me a parking ticket. I was supposed to pay fifteen dollars because of her over-exuberance?

Starsky was no help in my defense. He just kept taking her side, like she needed his support. If she hadn't left when she did, I might have changed my mind about not striking a lady.

Dobey thought it was funny, me getting a ticket, but he sobered up when Starsky told him that he'd fared the same fate, since he'd parked in a handicap zone. I think he took a little pleasure in sending us out again to back up Lieutenant Slate. He was a twenty year veteran of the force, a good cop who never looked down on us. We'd worked an eleven hour shift, but had to put in another hour. It wasn't just a simple bust of some kid in the garment district whose fingers got sticky when he was loading televisions in a truck. It was a clean bust and Slate sent us to lock-up with the suspect so we could process him before we went home.

When we came back downstairs, all that was on our minds was getting out of there as fast as possible and going straight to dinner. But then I saw Leslie Slate, the lieutenant's daughter, sitting in the squadroom, looking scared out of her mind. A fellow cop, Chuck Dobson, came by and told us what was going on. Leslie had been raped at her sorority house and a prowler was responsible.

And Lieutenant Slate was furious, understandably. He was storming through the hallway with Dobey chasing after him. We tried to restrain Slate, but as soon as he saw the prowler, he lunged, almost choking the man before we were able to pull him off.

We thought Slate was okay, that he'd gotten himself under control, but then the suspect made some crude remark. Slate shot the guy in cold blood right there in the police station. The prowler, Biggs, got hauled off to the hospital, while Slate got thrown in jail.

By the time everything died down and we finished our reports, it was too late for dinner or anything other than sleep. We were still in shock over what had happened. No cop could condone what Slate had done, but if any of us were in that same situation, who could say we'd do anything differently?

Internal Affairs couldn't look at it that way. Slate would've fared worse if Biggs had died, but fortunately, he didn't. It was only a flesh wound. He was back in lock-up by the afternoon. We asked Dobey for the case.

We headed over to the sorority to question the girls who lived there with Leslie. Nobody was home except an ultra-feminist named Cassie. She was so full of herself, so naïve in the ways of the world, that it depressed me to know that her youthful ignorance might cost us a case. If she knew something and wasn't telling us on the basis of her feminist ideals, we'd be no better off than when we started. We didn't know if Leslie would be much help, but we had to go to the hospital to check on her.

Slate was there with her, out on bail, but even being jailed hadn't calmed him down at all. He still wanted to take down Biggs by any means necessary. All he saw was a rapist who had hurt his little girl. Right now, his little girl was lost to all of us because she was imprisoned in her own mind. The pain of what she'd gone through made her run away from reality.

The DA was trying to run away from anything other than a plea bargain. The less time he had to spend in court, the better for him. We were not going to let this guy walk just because the DA had golf plans.

O'Reilly was still gunning for me. I began to think she was following me around town just to give me parking tickets. The more I yelled at her, the more Starsky defended her.

The next day, Starsky had gotten tired of my complaining, so he drove. Dobey called us to say that Biggs had gotten out on bail. We knew Biggs didn't have the money to get out. We found out that young black man had posted Biggs' bail. The officer on duty said that Biggs didn't even seem to know who the guy was.

That didn't sound right. Who would post bail on someone they didn't know? I called over to the Pits to see if Huggy could help us out, but he was out to lunch with a 'business associate.' I left a message for him to call us when he got back in.

We patrolled the streets, but no one had seen anything. Luckily, we spotted Huggy by the burger joint on Fifth. He wasn't very pleased that we interfered with his date, and was even less pleased when we asked him information on a cop. It took a little convincing, but we finally got it out of him.

Slate had come by the Pits the night before asking about Carver, a junkie who was his number one snitch. Slate showing up in the Pits was enough to raise suspicion, but the fact he was looking for his snitch was worse. We headed over to talk to Carver, hoping he'd be able to set us straight. He tried to hide from us, but never stood a chance.

Carver warned us that we didn't want to hear what he had to say, and he was right, but we certainly needed to. Slate was playing a game of vengeance. We had to stop him.

Dobey didn't like us putting out an APB out on Slate, either. I knew the lieutenant had been a good cop, I knew he was hurting, but he was also about to cause a whole lot more trouble for himself if we couldn't stop him.

We headed over to Biggs' place to check out his location, but never made it there. A call came in that Biggs had kidnapped Slate, and was holding him hostage over at the old Roselyn Hotel. Slate's game had just kicked into high gear. He was controlling Biggs to make it look like Slate was his victim. He worked it so well that a uniform cop Slate had trained shot Biggs, believing he was doing his job to protect another cop. Slate had manipulated all of us so he wouldn't have to kill his daughter's rapist himself. There was no way to save him now. It was just a waste of a good career.

That case was finished, but O'Reilly kept coming back to bite me. She filed _two_ complaints with IA about my behavior towards her. Did she expect me to smile pleasantly when she was harassing me? I would fight her, and all her power trips, and prove to her that she couldn't run over me.

But Starsky thought he'd solve the problem by going out with her. A little dinner, a little loving, and all the problems would go away. Except, whatever problems of mine he thought he was getting rid of, he was creating more for himself. I was not going to sit around and let my lover fight my battles for me, never mind sit quietly while he jumped from one bed to another. I was mad and would stay mad until he got that through his head.

He never did connect the dots, so I was still mad when we had to leave for our next shift. Starsky kept saying I should lighten up and let it go. Then we pulled a strange case that I could have done without.

A woman, Monique, had brought a man back to her apartment for a little nighttime fun. Unfortunately, he didn't have much fun. He ended up stabbed to death in her apartment. Evidence on the scene made it look like whoever had killed him was smaller than he was, and probably right-handed. That didn't give us much to go on.

Monique claimed that she saw the guy who did it, even knew his name, Harry Ashford. He was a psycho who had done the same thing in her apartment in San Francisco six months ago. It looked like he had followed her to Bay City. He'd left her a love note in one of her books, threatening her. 'I have to stop you, Monique.' We advised Monique to leave her apartment for a while. She said she could stay with her sister, Bobby, and gave us the number there.

So we had a name, a note for handwriting samples, and an eyewitness. Should be easy, right?

Wrong. Harry Ashford had nothing in the files, so all we could work from was a composite sketch Monique had done. Ashford had no record, no address, no driver's license.

Dobey wanted to send us out on the only lead he could find, a partial zip code on the top of the note. It looked like hotel stationery and the zip code was here in Bay City, down in skid row. Why can't suspects ever live in the high-end part of town? So we checked around, showing the composite.

We got lucky at the tenth stop. The desk clerk claimed he hadn't ever seen Ashford, but when we forced him to search his records he discovered that not only did Harry Ashford rent out Room 211, but he was a week overdue on paying. The room was a mess, of course, but the mirror had a nice ode to psychotic obsession scrawled all over it. The newspaper on the bed was over a week old, so it didn't look like Harry had been back since. Starsky managed to bag a hair sample from the dresser and I got a broken glass from the trash in hopes of pulling some prints off of it.

I called Monique's sister, Bobby, to check on Monique, but she had split. We went over to talk to Bobby, but she had no clue where her sister was. She did give us a matchbook from the Cellar club, telling us Monique hung out there sometimes. It was a start, so we went there. The bartender said she had come in alone, like always, and left with some guy about thirty minutes ago. He didn't know where they were headed, but the sack was a good guess.

She was going to get laid; he was going to the morgue. Victim number two died from multiple stab wounds at Monique's place. This was looking like a serial murder case. When we questioned Monique this time, she didn't seem too concerned. It was as if she would rather risk her life seeking a man every night than just staying home safe.

But Dobey agreed with her. Why not send her out? That way, we could use her as bait and trap Harry in the act. Only it wasn't going to be some unsuspecting guy she was going to pick up, it was going to be one of us. Starsky jumped at the chance and because he spoke up first, he got to do it. What was this, kindergarten? First one to raise their hand gets a prize? He was doing it again, racing forward to be the one in danger as if it proved he was a macho cop. Getting hurt or killed would certainly prove he was something, but macho wouldn't be the word I'd use.

We explained the set-up to Monique and she accepted it. She seemed concerned that we catch Harry before Starsky got hurt. He assured her that it wouldn't get that far. Starsky would pick her up at the bar later that night.

I needed to go do some street work while he got ready for his undercover assignment. It was the truth, I did need to do some street work. But first I needed to deal with what was happening. Starsky was willing to put himself in danger, make himself a decoy in a deadly game of cat and mouse, all because he wanted to prove that he was the best. It wasn't that he got the undercover assignment that bugged me; it was his motivation for doing it. He just wanted to prove that he could handle it and be a stronger cop than me. He knew he'd likely be hurt, but putting himself in danger time and again never stopped him. He did it to be the best, to prove he was the victor in some made-up game of worth.

I came home and took a shower, hoping to relieve some of my tension. But finally, I realized I had to wise up and start acting like a cop more than a burned lover.

I threw on a fresh set of clothes and went out on the streets. An endless line of snitches turned up false leads and no viable information. Coming back to the station around midnight, I glanced through the file again, trying to figure out anything about the composite that would give me a lead. The face was vaguely familiar to me, but I just couldn't place it.

I was hoping the lab had something in the prints and hair samples we had collected, so I called down there. Our faithful night attendant, Minnie, was blaring music and practicing her martial arts again. One thing about the lab night shift, it lets you work on your hobbies. The fingerprints were clean, but the saliva sample from the glass matched the hair sample, both of them from a woman.

No, that couldn't be right. Our assailant was a _man_, so that meant the lab was being sloppy. But Minnie assured me that the sample was double-checked and it was definitely female.

I hung up the phone in shock. A woman? Our killer was a woman?

I pulled the composite kit and worked with it, trying to piece together a female face to match the drawing. After a few attempts, I developed a composite of someone that looked eerily like Bobby, Monique's sister. Could Bobby be torturing her sister? There wasn't any time to debate theories. I had to question Bobby. Pulling the composite kit together, I grabbed it and raced out.

Bobby was at home. I shoved the evidence of the composite in her face, daring her to deny it. She insisted she had an alibi, that she was at St. Matthew's Cathedral the night of the murders, going every evening for Mass. I tried to get her to admit that she might be a little jealous of her sister, may have had a reason to want to see her be hurt. It would be a payback for the sins of the flesh she had committed. Even after I pressured her, though, she wouldn't change her story.

Bobby's hair color and face matched the composite. But, Bobby reminded me that hair color thing wasn't concrete evidence. Monique wore a wig to make her look like she was a natural redhead, so just because the composite looked like Bobby didn't mean much.

Then it dawned on me. I switched the hairstyle and instead of an image of Bobby, I had a picture of Monique--our killer. She was the only one who had ever seen Harry; she was the only one he tortured. He followed her because they were the same person.

I grabbed the phone, hoping to warn Starsky of the danger he was in, but the line was busy. I had to get over there, had to get to him before Monique killed him the way she had her other victims. Bobby wanted to come, too, probably to make sure that her sister was taken care of in spite of what she had done.

We found Monique on the patio, ready to kill Starsky. I quickly got her cuffed and restrained off to the side, so I could run over to check on my partner. She had drugged him, putting something in his drink to make him fuzzy so that she could murder him, but he managed to evade her even in his dazed condition. He was still alive. That's all that mattered. He was still alive.

A few days later, Huggy and I took Starsky to the park for a nice, relaxing picnic. The man was a walking bad luck charm. He could get himself into more trouble just ambling down the street than most people could ever dream of. Even the park wasn't going to keep him safe. Out of the entire area, and all those people, he was the only one that got stung by a bee. It's impossible to keep the man safe.

~~~

Then we got thrown into an undercover assignment that made us wonder if the only ones we were fooling were ourselves. A big jewelry heist was supposed to go down at a diamond auction in a high-class hotel, and the perpetrator was some shadowy figure named The Baron.

Dobey stuck us in the hotel where the auction would be taking place. Of all the jobs he could have gotten us, he placed us in the hotel's beauty salon as _hairdressers_. What made it even worse was when he handed us our assignment and told us to have _fun_ with it! Had everyone gone insane?

We had a day to work on our cover before going in, so we ended up at my place. We had done the hairdresser cover once before, but that was for a day. This would be for a week or more. We had to be able to fool a lot of people if we were going to be under for a week. But while I thought we should focus on how to be convincing hairdressers, Starsky was more focused on how to be just plain out.

"Shampooing, conditioning, frosting," I read through the book I was holding.

"We should switch," Starsky interrupted.

"What?" I asked, looking up.

"We should switch," he repeated, leaning back on the couch cushions.

"Switch what?"

"Covers. I don't wanna be Marlene again. He's boring." He slipped into an accent. "I want to be Mr. Tyrone."

"Mr. Tyrone doesn't have an accent. He's from Chicago," I pointed out.

"He moved." Starsky grinned.

"To where, the upper West Side of France?"

"You are jealous of my powers of seduction," he continued in his unintelligible accent.

"Starsk," I laughed. "You managed to catch me four years ago. You don't really need to throw Tyrone into the equation."

"But it's fun!" he admitted. "I like going under. I can pretend and play it up."

"You mean you can try it out," I countered, an edge creeping into my voice.

"No, I mean we get to _be_ out."

"Huh?" I looked at him, purposely trying not to connect the dots.

"Hutch," he said, slipping nearer to me on the couch. "Dobey practically handed us an out-of-the-closet card."

"What are you going on about?"

"Okay." He started to point between us. "We're new hairdressers, coming into this salon, together. If we're not a couple, then what are we?"

"Undercover. We're a couple that's... I mean....we can't be public about..."

"Are you ashamed to be with me?" he sounded hurt.

"You do realize that's the stupidest thing you've ever said, right?"

"Then let's be public!"

"I'm not going to let you try out the gay thing just because we can. Ramón was bad enough, now you wanna what? Start groping each other in the hotel lobby?"

"It would be a start," he said, smiling.

"You're serious?" I asked, surprised.

"Glad you noticed."

"Most of our clientele are going to be women. Are you telling me you're just going to ignore them?"

"No, I'll do what I need to do to have an in."

"So, it'll all be an act?" I led him right into it.

"Yeah, of course." And it took him a few seconds to realize what he said. "No, I mean, no! Hutch, don't twist this. This, between us, that's not an act. The other stuff, that's the case. The two of us, this is different. I just thought it would be fun to be out for a while."

"If you really wanna do this...."

"I really wanna do this," he assured me.

"Then, Mr. Tyrone, I think we should get acquainted," I teased, leaning in and giving him a kiss.

He laughed. "You've really got to work on your seduction techniques." He slipped back into the accent. "Let me teach you, Mr. Marlene."

He did. Many times. I learned absolutely nothing about hairdressing, but I definitely learned a few other things. It was going to be an interesting case, I was sure of that. I wasn't disappointed. I can honestly say that I had the most fun being Mr. Marlene than I've had on any other assignment. Maybe it was the fact that I could completely let loose and not worry about what it looked like from the outside. Or maybe it was the fact that the case wasn't a life or death situation. Or maybe it was the fact that I could do almost anything I wanted to do to Starsky, in public, and it was okay. The sex was an added bonus. Dobey got us a hotel room to go along with our cover and it was definitely used a lot for our mutual benefit.

Starsky went above and beyond on his cover; so much so that often times I had to wonder if I was having sex with Tyrone or Starsky. And then there was his ladder. Hilda, our boss at the salon, really didn't know what to make of it. What did a hairdresser need with a ladder? He was going for something. Personally I think he missed the boat on it, but he was going for something. He said it added to the mystery of Tyrone. I think it just added to the fact that Tyrone was a little left of center. I never said my partner was normal, I just said I loved him.

We begged off the paperwork on the case for a few days, but our little vacation into fantasy cost us twelve hours of typing and filing when we got back to the station. It was such a relief to get outside again after that and even street patrol didn't sound like such a bad option.

Starsky got revived once he got back in the car, burying his nose in the newspaper like it was a great novel and going on and on about some inane game of colors and numbers. It was kind of weird when he guessed what number I was thinking right out of the air. Everyone always said we had our own wavelength, but having him inside my head was odd. He was convinced that he was a master of ESP and could make it work for him. He read about this class that had graduates using their gift in Vegas, on the stock market, and at relationships with the opposite sex. He wasn't too convinced he had any use for the last one, but I insisted he needed the help. I wasn't saying I wanted him to go out and date women on the side, but he wasn't even trying like he used to. He used to make an attempt to keep his options open, but lately he only looked at women as a side thing, and me as the main line. Whether that was bad or good, I hadn't quite figured out.

I didn't have time to ponder it long, anyway, since we got a 211 call from 10543 Kroeger.

I went in the front, Starsky in the back, but once I got to the hallway I met a scared young girl who was too small for the gun she was carrying. I knew, looking into her eyes, she wouldn't back down. In spite of that, I couldn't make my hand pull the trigger on such a young kid. I saw her face and then I felt the surge of pain in my chest. I went down, felled by a child.

That's all I could repeat, over and over. She was just a kid, a scared kid with a weapon.

Starsky was there, I think. His voice kept me company through the pain, trying to take my mind off of it along the way. But he left me when they wheeled me into ER. I guess they wouldn't let him go any further. I blacked out after that.

The next thing I knew I was waking up in a white hospital room, pumped full with pain medicine and bandaged up. I wasn't dead; that was a relief. They had put my arm in a sling, I guess to keep me from pulling the suture line.

I was alone. Starsky wasn't there, which surprised me. I would have thought he'd be sleeping by my bedside, waiting for me to wake up. But then again, I didn't know how long I had been out, so maybe he had come and gone.

I asked the nurse about it when she came in to check on me, joked about how my partner must've been driving them crazy. She looked at me strangely and said that Starsky hadn't been there. Oh, he called once, but he hadn't been around to see me since I left ER. That couldn't be right. Why wouldn't Starsky be here? He was always here, just like I would be if the situation were reversed. We stuck by each other, waiting it out until we got better again. That's what we did, that's who we were. Why wasn't Starsky here?

I got my answer when Dobey came to check on me. It wasn't the answer I was looking for. He tried to convince me that I didn't need to worry myself with anything but getting better, but finally broke down and told me the real reason Starsky wasn't with me. The captain had assigned him a new partner, a temporary one--a woman partner. Dobey had stuck Starsky with a woman cop. My partner, who had not gotten laid by a woman in quite a while, was now patrolling the streets with a female partner.

Well, that explained it. He had chosen beauty over...me. What chance did a broken down male partner have against a young lady who carried a badge?

It was almost laughable when Starsky snuck in later that afternoon, holding out a fruit basket like a peace offering. Fruit was not gonna solve the problem.

I concentrated on the nurse who had come in to shave me. I concentrated on her to avoid concentrating on him. He wanted to play it like that, then I could flirt too, right in plain sight of him. But it only got worse after she left. Starsky tried to act as if it were natural for him to be hitting on his temporary partner.

I hated that word being used for anyone other than me. _I_ was his partner, not her, but he tossed that title around like it was a title she'd already deserved. She hadn't earned it, I did. He was shutting me out without any regard for how it made me feel. He was doing what he always did, playing both sides.

But no matter how much he wanted to toss me aside, I was still his partner. So, when Dobey called me the next morning looking for Starsky, I did what any partner would do. I checked out of the hospital to track him down myself. He may not want to treat me like I should be treated, but I couldn't let him get himself killed. He was playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse with the same people that had almost killed me, so there was no way I could let them get him, too.

I helped save him, but even in the middle of that, while I was risking my life for him, he called her his _partner_. I _saved_ him, saved her, too, but he acted like I was just doing my job, and didn't see how much I had risked.

But with me back on the force, at his side, there was no place for her anymore. She was out, I was back in, but there was no way I was letting it slide like nothing had happened. After we saw her off, back to some other assignment away from us, Dobey told us to go home, and take it easy for the day. I was going to be on desk duty until my arm healed anyway, so today's paperwork would be waiting for us tomorrow.

I didn't want to think about tomorrow; I wanted to think about tonight. I wanted to have it out with him and show him how much he hurt me by choosing her. I didn't bring it up until we were well past dinner. He thought he'd just spend the night with me, come back to me now that he was through with her. It didn't work that way; I wasn't going to let it. But he acted blind about it all, as though he could not see what was right in front of his face.

"You called her your _partner_!" I pointed out.

"Because she was! Dobey assigned her to me because you were in the hospital."

"Funny you should notice," I accused.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You came to see me once, for ten minutes, before rushing out to be with her again. I bet you had sex with her that afternoon, didn't you?"

"What are you getting so angry about?" he yelled.

"I almost died, almost didn't make it out of that hallway, and you're off having sex instead of seeing how I was doing."

"The doctors said you were doing fine!"

"And that's all the proof you needed to go off and screw somebody else, huh? Do you go to bed with all your partners as a rule or were Meredith and I the exceptions?"

Even as the words left my mouth, I knew I had crossed the line. But I wasn't going to back down over this. He had made a mistake and I wanted him to realize that. The anger in his eyes told me that I had hit him where it hurt, but he deserved it. He needed to see how much he had hurt me. But he wouldn't see that. All he saw was a man who was lashing out at him.

"I...I cannot.... You...." Starsky couldn't even get the words out. He was taking deep breaths, but they were doing nothing to calm him. "You know what? Forget it. Forget all of this. I'm tired of falling right back into this sick little game you play. You pretend you want me and then you turn around and destroy me."

He stormed towards the door, yanking it open like he hoped breaking it off its hinges would relieve his desire to break me instead. He turned around before he left, giving me once last glare.

"You don't even know what I was doing. I worried myself to death that you weren't going to make it. I was out there looking for the people that put you there in the first place, the whole time praying that the next time I called the hospital I wouldn't get some doctor offering me condolences. _That's_ what I was doing. I thought bringing the people who shot you to justice meant a whole lot more to you than holding your hand and letting them get away scott-free."

And then he was gone. Out the door, down to the street, gone. I was the one who was supposed to be angry with him and now he was turning it around on me, claiming I was too blind to see what was really going on? No, that's not what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to see what he had done to hurt me, but he never saw it. He never opened his eyes to what pain he had caused me. He had slept with her, chosen her over me, hadn't he? Wasn't that what had happened?

That's not the way he saw it.

He wanted to get himself as far away from me as possible. My recovery was going to happen alone, without his companionship. Oh, he called to see how I was doing, and he sent Huggy over in his place, but he refused to set foot in my apartment again while the pain was so fresh.

Our conversations always sounded the same way. I would apologize, tell him I didn't mean to hurt him, but he would just repeat the same feelings, over and over again. "I still love you, Hutch, but right now I just don't like you very much." And that would be the end of it until the next conversation.

When I was cleared for duty again, he came to pick me up like nothing had happened. But everything had changed. He no longer treated me as a lover, only as his partner. I could feel the distance stretching between us, but I couldn't manage to build that bridge again.

When the garment district case came through, we worked it like strangers. He never expected me to come home with him at the end of the day, and I did not to expect the same thing of him. My becoming Jack Ives gave me the freedom to pretend I was whole again. I could play the role and enjoy it for the moment because Jack Ives was happy, loved, and settled. He was not me, broken by a man who could crush my world just by being himself. When I brushed off Melinda Rogers and tried to show her that there was more to life than being a cop groupie, I could not even voice my disappointment over Starsky taking her out instead. That's what level we had sunk to: partners who didn't exist in the same space anymore.

It got worse. A few days later, Starsky took off in the afternoon to go to the dentist and I didn't even question his disappearance until he returned two hours later. My partner had been missing for two hours and I couldn't even bring myself to care. He had swiped a magazine from the dentist's office, like always, so I flipped through it while he was mumbling in his Novocain-induced haze and leaning against me. It was a fashion magazine, probably snagged so he could look at the pretty women.

One of the models was a blast from my past, Kate Larrabee. She was the first woman I'd dated on the rebound after Vanessa. Back then, when I thought I still wanted the wine and the high-class parties, there was Kate. She was beautiful, still was, and we burned bright. But the faster the flame, the quicker the burnout. We had gone our separate ways. This was the first time I'd even thought about her since then.

Dobey asked us to finish our last ten minutes of shift transporting a witness down to the courthouse. In the state of drug-induced fog that Starsky was in, he wasn't going to be driving anywhere, so I did. We were supposed to meet Officer Richards so we could cover the defendant, Jerome Lindsay. In and out, no big deal. That is, until the explosion.

We were just rounding the corner when it happened. Suddenly, Richards was down and our defendant was dead. Starsky rode in the ambulance with Richards to the hospital as I drove back to the station. We didn't discuss it, we just did it. The ties that once held us to one another were breaking one by one. Pretty soon we would be less than partners and finally just strangers. We were pulling apart at the seams, but I was too tired to try to fix it. I could focus on the case, something tangible that had some hope of being righted.

It wasn't until Dobey came to check on me four hours later than I even knew where my partner ended up. Richards was going to make it, but Starsky was staying with his family just to be there. Well, he could do that, and I could investigate from my side of it. The compound, the bomb, was done by a professional, set off by a remote control. The killer had to have been right near them, watching it go down. With someone that good, it was going to be hard to find him.

The next day, I arrived to the station early and started running down possibles with Minnie. Starsky strolled in an hour later and started laying the charm on her. However, even the best charm in the world wasn't going to make our suspect magically appear on the printouts. Minnie promised to keep working, but I had little hope that we would find the killer this way.

But someone else did find him: Kate.

She was like a dream coming back into my life. We just stood looking at each other, stunned for a moment. Then the spell was broken and she was real.

She was also very scared.

It took a lot of coaxing before I found out the reason she'd come to the station. She had been given a medical death sentence and wanted to end it on her own terms, so she had foolishly ordered a hit on herself. She paid for her own death, arranged by our well-known fiend, James Brady. Except, the plan had gotten mangled. Her disease had gone into remission, but the order for the hit was still on. She had gone to Brady to stop it, but he had already contacted the hit man known as the Angel of Death. There was no stopping it.

One thing I gotta say about Kate; when she wants something done she goes for the best. To have it undone was going to be harder.

Starsky went to see Brady, to try to rough him up, scare him a little, but that didn't work. The hit was still on and Kate was still in danger. It was up to me to protect her. Not us, me. She was my responsibility, my opportunity to prove that someone out there still cared for me and I could still care for them without hurting them. I used a two-way radio so I could communicate with Starsky if I needed to. Then I left him, promising that I would be okay and so would she.

I stayed with her throughout the night, holding her, and being with her like old times. It was easy to fall back into the safety of our memories because the present was too frightening for the both of us.

Starsky buzzed me on the radio early the next morning. There was some kind of interference because while I could hear him, he couldn't hear me. When I saw him pull up outside, I decided to go out and investigate.

It wasn't until I was halfway down the driveway before I realized the problem. I had the button turned on the wrong frequency. I switched it back and the next thing I knew I was laying on the lawn, dazed and winded. Kate and Starsky had to be assured that I was okay. Kate's car was burning beside us, attesting that the Angel of Death was still in the game.

Starsky called for the uniforms and the fire department while I tried to calm Kate. She was beginning to realize just how deadly this was.

I got one of the uniforms to guard her while I went to the station with Starsky. Dobey told me the two-way had accidentally set off the bomb once it was on the same frequency. Dumb luck or good luck, depending on how you viewed it.

Huggy hadn't been able to locate the Angel, either. He knew where the killer had been, but when Starsky went to check that out, the Angel had already split. All that he had left behind was evidence that he was a real toy freak. But the store where he'd bought his goods had the old hotel address listed for him, nothing else.

I left Starsky tracking down the current address while I went to be with Kate at her photo shoot. It was my job to stick with her and that's what I was planning on doing. Starsky didn't meet up with us again until we had gotten back to the house so that Kate could get ready for her doctor's appointment. Starsky had found the Angel's current address, and that legitimate excuse helped cover his jealousy at seeing us together. It was good for him to be a little ticked, made the blood run. But it was time to focus on the case, not the participants. Officer Batson took Kate to the doctor's and I drove over to the Angel's supposed residence.

Two hours and three false leads later, we were still on stakeout in a hotel parking lot, anticipating that the next guy that drove up would be the Angel. Thankfully, he was the next, dressed like a postman and getting out of a TV truck. He put up little fight when we busted in, taunting us with the fact that he had already succeeded if everything went according to his plan.

A frantic search of his room revealed his current method of mayhem, which involved Kate's make-up lights. A flick of the switch and she would be blown sky-high.

From that moment, all my thoughts focused on saving Kate. I handcuffed the Angel to the pipe in his room, running out after Starsky and diving headfirst into the Torino as we sped to Kate's. There was no response to my frantic calls on the radio and by the time we got to her house, I was sure we were too late. I raced through the door, yelling and praying, diving for Kate just as she plugged in the lights. The bulb exploded, but I was able to cover her so she didn't get hurt. She was safe; everything would be okay now.

But having her back in my life just revealed to me that I couldn't go back, not to that life. To me she was the safety net of being able to pretend that I was young and unfettered again. When Vanessa left me, Kate had been my saving grace. But what was it that Vanessa kept throwing back at me? That even when I'd burned all my other bridges, Starsky would still be there like a puppy, loving me to the end. Maybe that had been true before, but even a puppy will run away if it's kicked hard enough and I think that day had finally come.

When Kate left me this time, it didn't hurt like before. Even she knew that it had just been a game we were playing with each other. We could come together, feel good for a while, but we could never be the people we had been back then. Too much had happened, too much time had passed, too many people had come into our lives. A few had refused to leave. She would always be someone I could use to forget my present problems with, but every night of forgetting brings a morning of remembrance and regret.

I was so withdrawn from Starsky now, so disconnected, that when his younger brother, Nicky, called to say he was coming into town for an unscheduled visit, I was relieved. The joy on Starsky's face at having his little brother visit might have been enough to keep me sane. I could pretend to be happy with him, we could slip into our masks of being the men we had been too many years ago. But, I had never been able to see eye to eye with Nick.

He was what Starsky would have been if he'd stayed in New York. I knew that and I hated facing that reality. That man would have lived in a bad neighborhood, continuing a string of petty crimes until he was thrown in jail. That man would have shamed his mother and gone straight to the people that his father had worked so hard to protect him from. That man would not have been my partner. He would have never entered my life and shown me what joy could have been. Fortunately, that man didn't exist in Starsky, but he did in Nick, and that's why I couldn't trust him as Starsky did.

Starsky did his best to be a good host, introducing Nick to Dobey and shining like a proud parent. He left the squad room with Nick, probably to show him around the rest of the station. After a few minutes, though, I looked up to see Starsky coming back into the squadroom. Nick wasn't with him, so I assumed he had left for the day.

"Nicky get off okay?"

"Yeah," Starsky said, smiling as he sat down at the desk. "Kid's a chip off the old Starsky block, if you ask me."

"Not a real healthy thing to be," I teased.

"Hey!" Starsky said in mock offense.

I snorted a laugh and started reading a case file. It seemed like we would never get out from under the ever-growing pile of papers that we collected. We bantered back and forth about the day's caseload. Everything had to be filed in triplicate and that just meant three times the work on the ever-expanding caseload. Starsky would get frustrated over the typewriter's lack of cooperation, so he'd run to the snack machine to blow off steam. I kept him supplied with quarters throughout the day. After the last of them ran out, he was ready to give up and go home.

"We gotta get out of here early, anyway. I got us three girls for tonight."

I looked up from the file sharply, into the eyes of someone who thought his admission was nothing more than an everyday gesture. My buddy had picked up a girl and was only looking out for his brother and partner when he invited two of her friends along. What a nice guy. Yeah, right.

"You want us to pick you up?" he asked, oblivious to my feelings.

"Umm, maybe I should just sit this one out," I managed to say, looking back down at the papers on my desk.

"Hey, hey!" he tried to get my attention. Finally, I looked back up at him. "No sitting anything out. Nicky came to have fun and I already asked Marlene to bring her two friends. It'll be great."

Fun in Starsky's mind meant that he was getting laid by someone female at some point in the evening. I was sure he and Nicky would have a fabulous time, but I would be miserable.

"I'll, um, I'll meet you there," I said, shuffling the papers.

"Okay, fine," Starsky said, getting up. "We'll see you there, then. This is gonna be one terrific night."

"Yeah," I half-heartedly agreed. "Terrific." I watched him leave with a quick wave to me. I knew I shouldn't be so bitter, but I couldn't help it. He was trying to drum up sexual favors just because his brother was in town and I was supposed to sit back and watch. Well, I wasn't going to let him win so easily.

After an hour of failed attempts at finishing our paperwork, I gave in and went home. All I was thinking of was Starsky, anyway, so I might as well get ready so I could see him again. It didn't take me long to shower and get dressed, so I decided to hang out at the club for a while before they got there. I kept picking out the ladies that I would have to steer away from Starsky. It wasn't going to be easy, but I knew I had to do it.

Nick and Starsky soon arrived and I motioned them over. They were dressed very well and I got the impression that they were both hoping for some action tonight. The girls soon followed and I quickly snagged Marlene away from Starsky. Intercept before contact could be made; it was always the plan that worked best.

I danced with her and kept fawning over her in an attempt to take her mind off my partner and his brother, but she kept mentioning how great they looked and how well they danced. Even when I was with a woman, they still couldn't keep their eyes off Starsky. I would never win at this rate, so I decided to take her back to her place and away from the action. That ended badly for her, though, because by the time I got to her apartment I had no intention of going any further. During the whole ride home, all she could talk about was how much she enjoyed my partner, how great he looked, how wonderful a dancer he was. I wasn't in the mood to play second fiddle with a woman who had no chance with my partner, so I said I was sorry and couldn't come in. An early day at work tomorrow was my excuse.

I didn't go right home, though. I went to Huggy's instead. He was behind the bar, but I could see that the crowd had pretty much cleared out and he was going to close up soon. All I wanted to do was sit down, have a beer, and talk to Huggy for a while to take my mind off everything.

"Well, if it isn't my blond buddy," Huggy laughed as I went up to the bar.

"Yeah, hey Huggy," I said, sounding a little down. "Can I get a beer?"

"Uh-oh, don't sound like everything's right in the world," Huggy said, reaching down to grab a cup. "And I don't think another drink is gonna make it better. How about a cup of coffee?" He pointed to the pot when he brought the coffee cup into view.

"Whatever," I sighed, turning towards a far booth in the corner. I figured he'd join me if he wanted to. I was right, he did. He slipped into the booth and sat across from me, carrying two coffee cups and a pot of still-warm coffee.

"So," he said, pouring us both a cup, "tell old Huggy about your troubles."

"What's to tell?" I snorted, picking up my cup to take a swig. "Same old story, different actors."

"Ah, trouble in paradise?"

I stared at the black liquid, swirling it in the cup. "He just doesn't get it, Huggy." I looked up at my friend. "Or maybe I'm the one that doesn't get it. Why am I torturing myself over him like this?"

"Because you love him, plain and simple," Huggy said, holding his mug, but not drinking.

"Yeah, but why do I love him? Why do I make myself miserable over him when I know it's never gonna go anywhere?"

"The heart wants what it wants, my brother, and there ain't nothing we can do about it. You just gotta stick it out. He'll come around one of these days." With that he took a sip of coffee, making a face as the dark brew went down.

"I know he loves me, Huggy, I just don't know if he wants to be _in love_ with me," I whispered as I played with my mug. "That's a whole different ballgame."

"Sometimes you can't just play by the rules, you gotta make your own. If you push him, he might run again, but he might not." He put aside his coffee cup. "You just got to decide whether you're ready to try it."

"I don't know if I'm ready to push him, Huggy," I admitted, moving my own cup away. "A little bit of him is a whole lot better than none."

"I hear that," Huggy said, nodding.

I smiled at Huggy. No matter what, I could always count on him to be my sounding board. My life was in turmoil most of the time when it came to Starsky and my feelings towards him, but I could always talk to Huggy. It helped to have another point of view. I could understand what he was saying, that I'd have to take a chance if I wanted to go forward with Starsky and figure out our future. Life had a funny way of turning corners when you least expected it.

But the corners we turn aren't always welcomed. When the Feds laid out their story the next morning, Starsky didn't want to hear it. All he focused on was that they had his little brother under surveillance. What he blocked out was that they had good reason to do it. When a guy from out of town wanders into Stryker's place, a known underworld hangout, they're gonna take notice. But my allegiance had to remain with Starsky, so when he wanted to go check out the surveillance for himself, I went along. I walked right into a bomb blast because he needed to know the truth.

Weldon, the federal agent on duty, was killed at the scene. Bronson, his partner, made it out in the same condition we did, shaken but basically unharmed. But Starsky was still convinced that Nick was completely innocent and that Stryker would be found guilty of the whole thing. He even threatened Stryker himself. He was so focused in his rage that I'd seldom seen him so dangerous. The only person he would listen to was Nick, and he was blind to the fact that his little brother was giving him a snow job. Nick laid out some story about how Stryker was a friend of a friend from New York and he was just going by to say hello as a favor. Starsky couldn't see that Nick was lying; he wanted to believe that his brother was an innocent bystander that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We had a couple of beers and lunch with Nick before we had to head back to the station. But we'd barely made it into the squad room when Huggy called me. He made it very clear that I needed to come back to the Pits, and I needed to come alone.

I had to lie to Starsky, telling him that I had accidentally left my wallet down at the bar. It was just one more lie added to the many lies he'd been handed that day. He bought it, accepting it at face value and not questioning me.

When I found out what Huggy had to tell me, I was glad Starsky wasn't there. Nick had been rolling in money since he got to California, and there was a reason. He was the new supplier of weed for some of Huggy's less than legal patrons. Starsky's little brother: drug dealer.

I couldn't care less if Nick got thrown in the joint for years; all I could focus on was what it would do to Starsky when he found out. Nick could go down, but he was not taking Starsky with him.

The most infuriating thing about the whole situation was that Nick wouldn't deny it. I went over to Starsky's apartment, hoping Nick would hand me some sob story, but he didn't. He was calm and cool about the whole thing. Sure, he dealt weed, but he didn't see anything wrong with that. Breaking the law to him was just an everyday occurrence.

I told him straight out that I couldn't care less how he ruined his own life, but I cared a great deal about Starsky. Nick was getting ready for a comeback when Starsky walked in. He had tracked me down through Huggy, and knew the whole story of why I was over there in a heated battle with Nick.

I had no place here anymore, so I excused myself. Starsky knew I was trying to protect him, but now it was his turn to have it out with Nick, brother to brother. I went back to the station to wait for the outcome.

Two hours later, Starsky rejoined me and recounted how the argument had ended with Nick running out the door, just like a Starsky. They may not be alike in many ways, but both of them have the fight or flight reaction down to an art. Bronson came in and told us that Nick had even ditched the tail that they had had on him, just like a pro. He was working a dangerous game and it was only a matter of time before he got caught.

In three hours, that's exactly what happened.

The first call Starsky got from Nick after their argument was clearly from a man in fear for his life. Stryker's goons had nabbed him... I have to hand it to Nick, he knows a thing or two about self-preservation. The kidnappers left us an audiotape of Nick, and on it, he managed to slip Starsky a clue about his location without anyone being the wiser. He said that he and Starsky had been on different sides of the street since 104th Street. That was the address of the print shop they had worked in during the summer back in New York.

Nick was being held at a print shop here in Bay City. All we had to do was find out where.

Starsky got an address for Carmel Printing on 2200 Delray, our best bet. Between the backup and us, we got the whole situation under control. Nick even learned his lesson and admitted that playing the wrong side of the street was dangerous. He made no promise that he'd stop doing it entirely, but for Starsky it was enough. For me, it'd never be enough, and Nick knew that.

~~~

I was pretty sure that the dead rich uncle Starsky thought was giving him a $10 million windfall wasn't planning on sharing much of the loot with Starsky.

I had a small hope that Starsky would indeed become a man of leisure, just so he could leave the department and maybe we could get rid of the stumbling block that was keeping us from being happy. But just as my happiness wasn't going to be easy in coming, neither was Starsky's fortune. $233.98 wasn't going to buy us any kind of future together.

I needed to feel needed and he was out to prove that he needed no one but himself. We were growing apart day by day. I was carrying enough sadness for ten others.

That's why I latched onto Marianne, a blues singer working a nightclub owned by a very dangerous man, Joe Fitch. She was the complete opposite of Starsky and nothing I needed. She was lost, she was afraid, and she was someone I could be a hero to. I could be her savior and prove to myself that I was still worth something, even though I couldn't see that at the moment.

I went under as a country singer from Nashville named Jack, out to make it in the big city out West. I'd spent a week prowling the club, gaining her friendship and interest, but I was nowhere near getting her out of the danger she was in. If I could show her that Fitch would eventually sacrifice both her and her brother Harry for his own freedom, maybe I could prove to her that she had a brighter future on the outside.

But no one else could see what I was trying to do. All they saw was me wasting the department's time on a hopeless case.

One by one, the witnesses that had agreed to testify against Fitch were being killed. By week's end, even Starsky saw Marianne as a hopeless case.

Charlie Baron, a witness scheduled to testify against Fitch, was dead, and Marianne had most likely been at the scene. We were no closer to getting the case resolved. Deputy DA Stanton pushed too hard and I couldn't take it. I threw him out the door, ignoring his protests. Dobey wouldn't venture much more than a gruff order that Starsky take care of his partner and for both of us to get back to work. What did he think, that we were not working? I had been on this case twenty-four hours a day.

I couldn't let her be, couldn't forget the whole mess even for a night.

I remembered better times in my life, when I could live in safety and love without questioning my partner. Now, I didn't know who he was and I certainly didn't know who I was. We were strangers sharing a job, sharing space when forced to. We had gone from living as one to living as fragments spread out over miles of destruction.

Starsky tried to talk to me after we left the Baron crime-scene, but I cut him off. I had a job to do, so did he, so I wanted to get to it. My focus now was on Marianne, not any apologies or accusations Starsky wanted to foist on me.

I watched her at the club that night, and even jotted down some lyrics on a napkin, capturing the hopes and dreams I had for a perfect life. She thought it was for her. I didn't correct her. It could be about her or any of the countless other women who had come in and out of my life, but the truth was that it didn't really capture my idea of happiness. No, if that were the case, the lyrics would tell a different story. They would tell of devotion to a man who had been through the worst and the best with me, still smiling as he emerged from the other side. It would tell of a man who meant more than words could capture. The images were dark and shining, mingling into one picture of hope. But for right now, those words on a cocktail napkin could be about a lost woman who knew only one constant in her life and feared that it would be taken away from her if she ever tried to escape the darkness she was in.

Joe Fitch had power over her, total control. He ordered her to leave me so that they could have dinner together. Even though she didn't want to, her fear won out and she conceded to him. She was in deep, totally incapable of seeing that there could be a future elsewhere. There was a brighter future possible, if she would just be open to it. There was a brighter future for Starsky and me, too, if he'd just open his eyes. He wanted to keep us running in circles, keep us locked in a battle of love and devotion coupled with hatred and depression. It was killing me to deal with it, to have to look at him and listen to the false concern in his voice when the only thing I really needed from him was something he was unwilling to give.

I should have called in, should have updated him on the case that night, but to even hear his voice would be too much for me. I went to bed alone, and wished there was some way to turn on a light in the murky depths we were treading.

I avoided the station the next morning, driving out on endless highways with the scanner turned down so that no one could pull me back. I ended up at the club, hoping that I could get Marianne to come with me to lunch. A little break in the wall she had built, that's all I needed. But she didn't want to cave, didn't want to show that maybe a little help was just what she needed. She was scared, alone, and didn't know whom to trust.

I caught up with her again in front of the club, making it clear that no matter how much she turned me away, I'd still come back to her. Fitch's men would do the same, always hovering around her and never giving her a moment's peace. But then she allowed me to help her, showing me just a little crack in the wall. We ran in the vain hope that we could get away from Fitch's guards for a while. If she could be alone with me, be safe with me, maybe she would open up.

After a fevered escape we lost the guards, and I took her to the only place I knew that was safe, my apartment. Neutral ground, safe ground, but she was still skittish. Benny Paycheck, our only other living witness against Fitch, had bought the farm, too. She was terrified of what would happen to her, but even so, she was not convinced that should trust me. She knew nothing about me. She discovered the truth on her own, that I was a cop, and that I was using her to get Fitch.

She couldn't see that it wasn't like that for me anymore. I may have gone in as a cop, forced to latch onto someone close to get to Fitch, but meeting her, getting to know her, had changed everything. She deserved better than the life she was living, deserved more than the constant fear she endured just to keep her brother, Harry, safe. She was blind to all that, only aware that I had used her. As she ran from me, going back to the only life she knew, I could tell that she was not the opposite of Starsky at all. They were both the same, running away from change for fear that the life they had known would suddenly not exist anymore. If I couldn't save her, what chance did I have at saving Starsky?

I drove around to clear my head, ending up at the station on automatic. I couldn't go in the squad room, though, couldn't confront my partner's face that would surely shine with disappointment when he found out what I was still trying to do, who I was still trying to save. So I sat on the stairs outside the squad room, just concentrating on the inconsequential sounds as they enveloped me.

Soon, the noises faded and Starsky's voice cut in. He seemed concerned for me, but he was more concerned that I was still killing myself over someone he saw as beyond help. He wanted me to cut my losses and get the whole thing wrapped up. He wanted me to shut off all my feelings and start acting like a cop.

Couldn't he see that it was all I had ever done? I couldn't act like a man, not the one he had once known, because if I did that I'd have to open myself up to all the pain that involved. No, I'd rather just be Marianne's hero instead of being Starsky's victim.

I went to her again that night, going backstage and dragging her out into the alley so we could have it out. She wouldn't accept my apologies, wouldn't even listen to what I was telling her. She needed to see that she was worth something in this whole mess, but she couldn't face that. Then she pushed back, calling my bluff. She would walk away from it all, she said, and go off with me and be happy, if I would just say yes. But how could I do that? I wasn't trying to save her for myself; I was trying to save her to prove that I could do it. If she could be brought back into the light, there was a chance for me.

She walked away from me angrily, leaving me alone in the alley.

I heard a voice calling my name, telling me to turn around, then saw a bright flash that blinded me momentarily. Lights, pain, all mingled into one constant struggle. It was a dangerous path I had chosen and this was proof of it.

When they were through with me, they left me there. I dragged myself up and went to the only place I could manage, Marianne's dressing room. I always returned to the one who rejected me, always reached out for the one person I couldn't have.

But that night she watched over me, and cared for me. In the morning, I realized that this was our goodbye. She couldn't escape, no matter how much I wanted her to, so she had to go back to the only life she'd ever known. She was gone half an hour before I pulled myself together and left.

I found Starsky in my apartment when I got there, apparently calling half the city looking for me. Fitch had put out dozens of pictures of me, to buy information about me wherever he could get it. It didn't take him long to find out I was a cop. Now he'd be biding his time until he could take me out. But my concern wasn't for me; it was for Marianne.

Starsky drove us over to her apartment building, keeping his mouth shut about the situation. But when we got there, it was too late. We managed to arrest Fitch, but not before he had killed Harry. Marianne was lost, beyond reach, because her brother was dead. I couldn't save her, no matter how much I wanted to. We were both tied to our pasts, having to live with ghosts of men who once took care of us and were now another sacrifice.

Starsky reached out to me, but I brushed past him, needing to get some air and clear my mind. Even with Starsky nearby, I felt alone and couldn't find my way back to the way things used to be. The uniforms ran past me, on their way to do their jobs.

Starsky came out after a while, finding me collapsed on the stairs in exhaustion. I couldn't take it anymore; I couldn't stand the pain. I was too tired to fight, too tired to make him stay away. He simply took me home because he knew I needed him, just like he always knew.

"I couldn't save her," I whispered as he guided me through the apartment.

"Shhh, it's okay."

"She's lost, Starsky," I admitted.

"You did all you could," he said, pulling back the covers on the bed. "It's time to rest, Hutch. Let it go, just for a little while."

I agreed silently, letting my body relax into the mattress. Starsky pulled the sheets up over me and sat down on the bed. "I was supposed to save her," I told him.

He put his hand on my cheek, caressing my skin. "You did what you could. Sometimes, people are lost to us."

I looked up at him, looked into the eyes of someone I knew so well and had suddenly lost. "Are we?"

"What?"

"Lost?" I asked.

His eyes were shining and I could see his lip was trembling just a little. "Yeah, buddy, we were lost. But we're gonna be all right again, I promise."

I wanted it to be all right again. I wanted to have him back and love him again, just like before. But for tonight, I'd simply take him being there with me, loving me and keeping me safe while the darkness once again threatened to overtake me. His soft words of encouragement were enough to help me relax, to forget for a while. I could rest, finally, and that's what I needed to do.

The next time I awoke, I was alone. The sun was filtering in from outside and the noises from the streets were joining it. I began to stretch, pulling myself from my cocoon. I went into the living room, but found that Starsky wasn't there. My eye found the plate on the table, a piece of paper tucked under it. Pulling out the paper, I read his hastily written note:

"Hutch—

I'm taking care of everything at the station, so don't worry about it. There's some take-out in the fridge that I had Huggy bring over. I'll be back later on. Just rest for a while and call me if you need anything.

\--Starsky"

I smiled at that, the thought that he'd called Huggy just to make sure I had something to eat when I woke up. And he'd be back, too. I missed that, the ability to know that I wouldn't be alone. It had been a long time, but it was a good feeling.

Searching the fridge, I found the food that Huggy had brought. Nothing like a Huggy Special to calm the nerves. After lunch, I tried to watch television and take my mind off the events of the morning, but I sat there fearing a news report would come on about Joe. I hastily turned off the set and retreated back to the greenhouse. My plants, the greenery of life surrounding me, always seemed to make me feel better. I talked to them, watered them, babied them. They allowed me to escape all the times I felt like the stress would surely overtake me. They were my refuge and my salvation.

Starsky did come back after he'd finished up at the station, finding me still working with my plants. He wanted to make sure I was okay; that I'd be okay after all this was over. It would be a slow road, but as long as I knew he was willing to be around again, it made it easier. I wanted him to stay the night, but I knew that it would be better if he didn't. Not yet. Instead, he made some dinner with the leftovers still in the kitchen. To just be able to sit with him, to share our space after so long, made all the difference.

After a while, it was time for him to head back home. He left reminding me that I could call him if I needed anything, and that he'd pick me up the next morning, like always. Except it wasn't like always, it was better. It was the end of the battles, it was the end of being angry.

I felt better, both about going to work and just living in general. I was more optimistic that this time around, it would go well. I even went by the bank and got a loan on the greenhouse expansion I'd been planning. Life was about finding happiness and I was going to do as much as possible to make sure that happened.

I invited Starsky over for dinner the next day, to return the favor. It was like old times, sitting out in the greenhouse and just enjoying each other's company. He was being his usual self, focusing on the most outrageous stories in the news. Why anyone would want to dwell on wild monkeys eating a mother and her child were beyond me, but that was Starsky. I could have done without the information that we weren't getting our expected pay raises, though. It would have certainly eased the burden of the new loan a little bit. Starsky just laughed and assured me that I shouldn't worry about the expansion since he'd help me if I needed it. He'd help me, he'd be there for me, he'd returned to me.

That dependence was something I'd missed. He was one of the only people I could rely on without question, my only constant when others failed. Luke Huntley, my first police mentor, failed me, too, though I was determined to prove he couldn't have done the horrible things the force wanted to accuse him of. He was the foundation of what I'd built my career on, the reason I was who I had become, why I was a cop in the first place. To think that he'd become dirty was not even conceivable to me. He'd only become dirty in the first place because he was too devoted to his wife. I loved Doris, too, but she had changed over the years.

When I was younger, she had been proud to be a cop's wife. She knew how to have fun, betting on the horses when I'd join them on Sundays. Now, she was older, more involved in a vice she couldn't shake. Luke and Doris were both circling around a dark present, trying their best to survive it and make it through the day with their heads above water. Luke sacrificed his freedom and his career for her, out of love. I was willing to do it, so it was no surprise that he would, too.

~~~

We were getting back on track, Starsky and me. We were comfortable again, living in the same circle. He wasn't running and I wasn't pulling away. We would have dinner together, go out together, be together, and it didn't hurt anymore. I'd stay up late with him to watch the horror movies, and he'd stay up late with me to talk if I needed to. We touched and loved one another, but we were easing back into it slowly and surely. When we were over late at one another's apartments, we'd sleep together in the same bed. It wasn't the same, but it getting better.

I had left his apartment early in the morning and headed over to my place to change before work. I told him I'd meet him at the station since he was tired and needed the extra forty minutes of sleep more than I did. That's what a late night movie marathon will do to you, but he'd never listen. He was always gonna be a kid at heart and pay for his indulgences the next morning. But even with the extra sleep, he still came in late, looking like he'd been on a three-day bender. The sugar-laced doughnuts he was smuggling in weren't going to wake him up. Neither was the coffee I had poured him, but a little girl's crush would surely sober him up quick.

Minnie brought in Joey, our constant visitor over the past week. She still had it bad for Starsky. She had started filing false reports, claiming she knew facts about cases, anything to get her into the station and closer to Starsky.

I snagged a doughnut and went to sit on the other side of the squad room to take in this circus act. The other detectives were laughing and I couldn't blame them.

Finally, Starsky relented and agreed to take her out for a pizza lunch just to get her off his back. She was a young kid with a crush and it just wasn't getting through to her that he couldn't be the man of her dreams. She left on cloud nine.

I was still laughing. He was none to pleased that I had stolen his breakfast snack, so I had to face Dobey alone while he went off in search of more junk food.

Lenny the Torch, a safe cracker who ran numbers for local mobster Avery Schiller, was willing to trade information on Avery for a reduced rate. The DA was all for it because Schiller was a big fish and to take him down would mean good publicity for everyone involved. Right now Lenny was singing about some hit man named Eddie Carlyle who Schiller had brought into town. Our assignment was to get Carlyle before he could get to Schiller. The more information we could get on the big fish, the better our case would be when we brought him down.

I caught Starsky on his way in when I left Dobey's office. He could eat in the car; we had work to do. We didn't have a charge to pin on Carlyle, but we could find one. Let's see, assault with a deadly weapon might work, since he'd probably have a gun in the hotel room. He fired on us all right, but he was not that steady on his feet. We chased him out of the room, down the fire escape, and then he fell a couple of floors. He wasn't going to be talking to Schiller anytime soon. He wasn't dead, but he would be out of the game for a while.

We waited in the hall outside his hospital room for Dobey to arrive from the station. He was surely gonna rip into us for this one.

"He jumped!" Starsky yelled, pacing the floor.

"He fell," I corrected him.

"He still hit the ground!" He stopped to look at me.

"No, he hit the car," I pointed out.

"Whatever, he's still not doing us any good lying in there." He started pacing again.

I sighed, pushing myself off the wall I was leaning on. "You're right there." I wiped my face. "What do you wanna do? He was our in to Schiller. Dobey's gonna kill us. The DA's gonna be all over us."

"I don't know!" He started pacing again. "There's this out of town hit man coming in to do a job for Schiller. Now, he's laid up, but Schiller's gonna be expecting him to show up to do the job. If he doesn't, Schiller's gonna cut bait and run."

"Yeah, and if he does that, we've got zero chance of catching him."

"Somebody's gotta go under. We've gotta get a man on the inside to get the information on Schiller," Starsky said. The he stopped, looking at me closely. "Somebody that looks like Carlyle can pull it off for a few days while we get some evidence against Schiller."

"Me?" My voice broke a little. "You want me to pretend to be a hit man? I look nothing like him!"

"You look a little like him. You've got the same coloring and sorta the same build. And besides, nobody in town has seen him before. He's a new guy, come in to do one job, and then out again."

"Something could go wrong."

"I'm gonna be around. Don't worry." He came over to me and put his hand on my arm. "We'll be in and out before anything happens, promise."

"I don't like it," I told him, sighing. "But if it's the best chance we got, then I gotta take it, I guess."

"Good!" He smiled, patting me on the arm.

"Starsky! Hutch!" Dobey's voice rang out through the halls. "What happened?"

Nope, Dobey wasn't pleased with us at all. He didn't like our idea, I wasn't comfortable with it, but he gave us 36 hours to try and make our plan work. We headed over to Carlyle's hotel room to get settled, and give me time to get into character. I could fit in with the high society types; I had done it before. I just needed to practice a little.

Starsky was more interested in playing with Carlyle's rifle, which I'm sure he did just to tease me. My attempts to play along with his little game were detoured by the ringing phone. It was Schiller's man Damon on the phone, wanting to set up a meeting. In a random perusal of the yellow pages, I managed to settle on a French restaurant I'd never been into. Their ad claimed they had a fireplace; I told Damon to stand there and wait for me, so our 11:45AM meet was set-up.

After I hung up the phone, I sent Starsky over to check the place out. The last thing I needed was to be surprised by the set-up since I had to go there alone. I spent the rest of the day by myself, bored. Starsky didn't want to risk that someone might check up on me and find him there.

After he left, he called and told me he had found out some things about Carlyle's background. Apparently, our hit man had a girlfriend. So, while I would be dealing with Schiller and his boys, Starsky was going to take on the girlfriend and keep her out of the picture so she didn't blow the whole case for us. Undercover assignments, forced separation, this wasn't turning out to be fun at all.

But I did my job, got into my role, and the next morning I was at the restaurant eating caviar when Damon arrived. Oh, I played it up well. I was demanding more money, demanding more respect, and wanting to go right to the top to talk to Schiller myself. If he wanted me to knock off a union guy, he'd have to cough up more than $10,000. I was thinking more along the lines of $50,000 and told that to Damon. I might've overdone it and blown the whole thing, but I'd have to wait and see what Damon reported back to Schiller.

Meanwhile, I had to protect the union official that was the target of the hit. Dobey put a 24-hour guard on him. With that out of the way, I could focus on the waiting game with Schiller.

I ran into Joey's mother on my way out of the station. That woman cared less than zero about her daughter. The kid had stolen her mother's car and all she cared about were the golf clubs in the trunk. She was definitely not winning mother of the year. Poor kid had it all against her. No wonder she'd latched onto Starsky. She probably thought anybody that paid her any little bit of attention was the most wonderful person in the world.

Schiller made me sweat it out alone in the hotel room before he finally called and offered a meeting. But even from that first meet, our plan was beginning to unravel. Syd, Carlyle's girlfriend, called Schiller up and told him that Carlyle hadn't shown up for their date, but a _cop_ did. To make me prove myself, Schiller ordered me to go after that cop--Starsky. I had to play it cool, so I did what I had to do. It was a good fake-out, a way to prove that I was really the guy they believed I was. However, it was also tearing me up inside that I had to do it. Starsky is sometimes too good an actor. He fell, supposedly shot from my gun at point-blank range. That was how far I had to go; it was too much over the line. But who cares about lines when you've got a job to do, right?

I had proved myself to Schiller only to have the real Carlyle show up and ruin the whole game plan. Then Syd showed up, and pointed out that I wasn't the real Carlyle.

I was sure I was going to die, alone in that warehouse, but there's something to be said about last minute reprieves. Starsky saved me, again, thanks to a valid tip from Joey. So, basically Joey saved my life. What can you say about a girl who does that? For all the crushes and infatuations she held for Starsky, she was a good kid and the saving grace in this situation.

But she gave us a wake-up call when we took her to the park. We were too old for her to be lusting after. She deserved to be with a boy her own age. We were old enough to be her uncles, as she pointed out. Hanging around with her made us look like two dirty old men. The best we could hope for was to just be dirty together and go back to the way things used to be.

But they say you can't go back to the past, can't be those people anymore. Huggy had learned that, when he got us caught up in a case with his mentor from the old neighborhood.

The whole time we were chasing Huggy's ghosts, I was too blind to realize that I had my own ghosts to live with. I honestly thought that things had changed, that Starsky was there 100%, committed to starting over. He loved me. He cared for me. It wasn't unreal to think that he'd be there with me and _only_ me.

But nothing had changed. Nothing was going to change unless he was forced to confront the limbo he was forcing us to live in. We loved each other, but he wouldn't let himself believe in us. Why couldn't he let himself believe that?

Kira. The name on my lips created a taste of bitterness right from the beginning. Why did I want to be with her? Because when I was with her, I could be assured that Starsky wasn't. He dated her for a week, started right as the case began. That should have been my warning that this woman could destroy us. He made the first move, the first mistake, so why should I be the one who paid the price? I treated him terribly, I admit it, but when I'm pushed to make him see what he's too blind to recognize, what other choice did I have? I would rather destroy what little relationship we had left than to see him make the worst choice of his life.

Starsky called me out over my actions. He waited up all night, sleeping on my couch until I returned the next morning from guarding Kira. He slept on the couch, not even feeling welcomed in the bed we had once shared. He tried to make me act like a cop instead of a scorned lover. How can I ignore one half of who I was? I was a cop, but I was also the injured party. His attempts to get me angry were useless. I wanted to talk it out and get everything out in the open.

But just like night turned to day, he was ready to sweep it under the rug with one revelation. I could feel him pulling away from me even more than before, could almost feel the tension he carried in his words. He wouldn't touch me, wouldn't share the space we once inhabited together, because he knew how much his words would hurt me. He thought he was in love with Kira. He thought she was the _one_. He was ready to break away from all that we were, all that we had become, for a woman who he knew so little about.

I confronted Kira about it, needing to know that my partner wasn't throwing his life away on a dream of love that wasn't returned. I would have walked out of both of their lives if Kira had admitted she loved him, too. I would have done that, if she had only just stopped there. But she claimed she loved me, too, loved us both. How could I let Starsky turn away from us, from who we were, for a woman who couldn't even love him with all her heart?

As she was creating her lies, trying to support the web of false promises she was spinning, I knew I had one chance to make him see the truth. I needed to show him that Kira could not be trusted, couldn't be the _one_ since she would go to such lengths with me. I fully intended to have sex with her that morning, then present the fact to Starsky. I knew it would crush him, put an end to all we had, but I also knew he wouldn't go forward with her. I would lose him, but at least he wouldn't waste himself on someone who couldn't love him back the way he deserved.

But plans don't always go as they should. My love for Starsky meant more to me. There had to be another way, had to be something I could do to show him the light without making him forget what we had. Kira was not pleased with my sudden change of heart in her bedroom. She gave me a look of pure disgust and walked out of the room.

Then Starsky showed up. As I was listening to his voice in the living room, I realized that no matter what I did or did not do in the ten minutes I had been at Kira's house, he could only come to one conclusion. I had damned myself without doing a thing.

His pain, his hurt, turned to violence against me. He lashed out as if I had cut him to the very core. Essentially, that's what I had done. I had shown him a terrible side of reality, and he zeroed in on the one person he could blame: me.

After our abortive fight, Kira threw us out. We went our separate ways. He wouldn't even speak to me, wouldn't acknowledge I was even there. A call came in on the radio about a possible third victim in the dance hall murder case we were working, and he sped off alone. I was left to follow, more than just the miles widening the distance between us.

Dobey ordered us to settle our problem, and I knew that there was no way we were going to finish this case until we had it out. Right or wrong, he had to hear the truth.

So, I followed him back to his apartment and shoved my way in. He tried to put up a verbal shield, lashing out at me with words of hate and betrayal, not daring to listen to what I had to say.

"I didn't have sex with her!" I yelled, right in the middle of his tirade. "I couldn't do it!"

That shut him up quickly. His eyes were still full of anger, but added to that was confusion and disbelief. His body grew still as he watched me, judged me, taking in the words I had said. He turned quickly and went to the kitchen, leaving me behind.

"I can't listen to this!" he said, his back to me. "You're only doing this to hurt me. It's not gonna work! You took my girl and screwed her. Case closed." He was at the sink now, clutching the side of the basin.

"It would be better if that were true, wouldn't it?" I moved towards him, feeling the anger radiating through him, but not daring to touch him. "It wouldn't hurt as much if this was only about me sleeping with your woman. You could get angry with me, hate me, and shut me out. But it's not about that at all. I couldn't have sex with her--because I'm in love with you."

"Stop saying that!" he ordered as he spun around, fury flashing in his eyes.

I reached out for him, but he pulled away. I didn't go any further, but kept my distance in case he felt threatened by me. What an ironic thought. I threatened Starsky with my feelings towards him. He had always had a fight-or-flight reaction, so I really didn't want to push him into that.

"I can't help it. I can't help how I feel," I admitted, staring at my hands as if the answers were written there. I looked back up at my partner, willing him to understand. "I love you; I'm in love with you."

"Means nothing," he growled, pushing past me and into the open area of the living room.

"It means everything," I said, moving to join him. "I know it makes you scared, but I have feelings for you."

Starsky gazed into my eyes, his voice breaking a little. "Then why'd you go to Kira's? You went there to sleep with her, didn't you?"

I couldn't deny the truth, not to him. "Yes," I admitted, looking down again. I couldn't stand to see the hurt in his eyes right now. "When you told me you loved her, it nearly killed me. I knew you didn't mean it, but that didn't ease the pain. So, I decided to go over there and see if she felt the same way." I stared into his eyes again. "I knew she wasn't in love with you, but I couldn't figure out how to make you see it. She said she loved you, then said she loved me, too. The woman was ready to play with both us; she already had. It finally hit me that there was only one way to prove that I was right. If I slept with her, I could make you see."

"So you screwed her to _protect_ me? How thoughtful!" he yelled, moving towards the door and an escape from the pain I was causing him.

"I didn't go through with it!" I reiterated. "I got her into the bedroom and realized that it was wrong. I couldn't deny that I was in love with you."

"You expect me to believe," he turned away from the door, "that you went to her house, fully intending to have sex with her, and then couldn't because you didn't want to hurt me?"

"It's the truth. I don't know if I can make you believe it or not, but it's the truth." I turned away from him again, going towards the bedroom door.

He rushed to block my path, standing in the doorway, forcing me to stop. I looked into his eyes. They were burning with anger, passion, and disappointment. I was ashamed of what I had almost done with Kira. Why couldn't he see that I did it out of love? I did it to protect him, to protect us both.

"We're not gonna run away from this," he said. "You, me, right here. I need to know why it happened and I need to know right now!"

I couldn't take it. The man was hard headed, always in denial, so I did what needed to be done to get through to him. I grabbed him and forcefully pressed my lips onto his, giving him a bitter kiss. I released him, letting him stumble back a little, stunned by what had happened.

"You wanna know why?" I yelled. "That's why! We kiss, we screw, and we make love! And what's it mean to you? Nothing. I let you take control of my body, my heart, my mind, and for what? It's all a game to you. As long as you're not in love, it's just a nice roll in the hay. I wanted somebody who would tell me that they loved me, just for a second. I knew it was a lie, knew it with every fiber of my being, but sometimes even a lie is better than never hearing it at all." I started pacing in the living room, but he remained frozen in the doorway, watching me. I came to rest in front of him, staring him down. "Why can you give your heart to every girl in Bay City and not to me?" my voice faltered.

He reached out to touch me, but I pulled away, not wanting the connection, fearing it would burn me even more than his words. Starsky pulled his hand back down, disturbed by my reaction.

"Because if I give in, I'll never get it back," he finally said.

I looked at him, puzzled.

After a few minutes of silence, he gathered enough strength to continue. "If I tell you the truth, show you how much you mean, I'll lose everything that I am. I'm nothing without you, don't you know that?" He bowed his head, not daring to look into my eyes anymore. "I can give my heart to all those girls because I know it won't last and when I get broken, I know you'll fix me again. I'm consumed by you and that scares me more than anything." He fell silent; the only sounds filling the room were his uneven breaths.

I reached out, putting my hand on his shoulder. That single touch made him fall apart. I gathered him in my arms, holding on tight as if to keep him whole and not let the shattered pieces fly away. Once again, he had been broken, and I was there to fix him.

"Everything I am depends on you," I said between breaths. "I've never let anyone have that kind of control over me and it scared me to death when I first realized it, but then I accepted it, cherished it. You're the most important person in my life and to deny that would be like denying who I am." I pulled him back so I could look into his eyes. "I've never loved anyone as much as I love you, and having you pretend it wasn't true hurt me."

"But what if we're wrong?" he asked, eyes pleading for an answer. "What if we think this is love and next month or next year we find out that we were just in need?"

"We are in need," I said. "In need of each other. There's nothing wrong with that, needing each other like we do. We're partners; that'll never change. What we do to deepen that connection can never be wrong."

He pulled me near him, cradling his head in my shoulder. "I know it's not wrong," he admitted. "But for so long I just didn't want it to be right. I wanted this to wear off so we could go back to normal, and then I realized that this was normal, this was who we were. I just didn't know if I could be that person for you."

"I never asked for perfect. I just asked for you," I teased.

Starsky pulled back again. He closed his eyes and leaned in. Our lips met, first softly and then brutally. Skin meshed into skin, pressing against one another as if we had melded into one. We struggled together, devouring one another.

He pulled away first. I felt as if my soul were torn apart. His eyes gleamed with passion, love, desire. I wanted more of him, to completely give myself over to him again, as I had done countless times before. Starsky looked into me, revealing his true feelings.

"Hutch," he said, almost breathless. "I should have said it before, should have told you the truth, but I didn't. I can't make up for all the damage I've done, but I can say one thing for sure. I love you, I've always loved you, and I want to keep loving you for years to come."

That was all I needed to hear, the words I had been longing for. I was his and finally he was ready to admit that he was mine. Life was whole again, right again.

I claimed his mouth once more, desperately trying to seal the connection between us. We moved in unison, backing our way towards the bedroom as we gripped at each other's shirts in desperation, tearing them off our flushed skin. Starsky pulled too hard on my shirt, tearing three buttons in the rush to get it off me. I didn't care if my whole wardrobe was destroyed. He got my jeans unbuttoned and got me out of them faster than I imagined possible.

I had only managed to remove his shirt. When he was bare-chested at last, I pushed him onto the bed and attacked his too-tight jeans. Finally, I peeled them off in a struggle of nervous hands and combative denim. The race to make him naked took too long. When it was done, though, I paused to glance at the straining cock that lay reddened and pulsing in front of me. He was here, he was ready, and we were one again.

"I want to possess you, be in you, learn you from the inside out," I choked out, willing him to hear my need.

"Do it, Hutch," he begged. "Possess me."

With his permission I did just that. I lay kisses along his chest, as I journeyed down to the enlarged organ lying bare and waiting. Gathering it in my hand, I pumped his cock in rhythm with his beating heart, bringing him nearer and nearer to release. Then I turned him over and nestled myself behind him, waiting for my turn to enter him. Finally, he came in my hand, releasing himself in a burst of pleasure. His breathing became gasps of delight and willingness.

"Take me, Hutch. Please, take me."

I reached forward and retrieved the lube from the bedside drawer. The bent tube of KY had traveled between our apartments, but never before was I the one who was using it like this. I quickly greased my cock and his opening, almost afraid that he would change his mind if I took too long.

"Do it now!" he ordered, straining under the pressure of his own desire.

My cock entered him as if it had been waiting for this moment since we began this delicate dance so many years ago. Gently guiding myself into his waiting body, I pushed forward and began a steady cadence of thrusts. Pleasure, pain, happiness, bare emotions of desire all came together in that moment. Starsky cried out, edging me towards release. And I soon came, exploding within him. My body tried to keep up with my mind, but the two were not in sync. While my mind wanted to continue, to never leave the moment, my body had done all it could and was soon lax. I slipped out of his body, falling beside him. I had to get a new shirt, we still had a case to finish, we had a life to begin again. But right now, at this moment, all I had to do was lay beside him and know that this was real, forever.

"I love you," I breathed, wrapping my arms around his body.

"I know," he said, softly. "And I love you, too. No matter what, I'm never going to forget that again."

This was real, this was us. We had walked through the fire and come out on the other side. That's what mattered. Kira had tested us, made us come to some truths about ourselves, but she also played us for everything we were. She exploited our relationship because she could. That's what made it come to a head, the fact that someone else could use what we were against us. It was almost a treat to use it to our advantage.

Later that night, she called us both to the Pits, thinking we would destroy ourselves in front of her and give her a good floorshow. But she couldn't handle the truth, that we were a package deal that would not be separated again. Threesomes didn't appeal to her; she wanted us both for herself. In the end she was left with nothing, and we still had each other.

That's what really mattered, that we had fought through everything that had set out to destroy us and had come out the other side stronger for it. And that's exactly the mode of thinking we had when we went in to help Huggy's friend, Lionel Rigger. He had information on a drug bust we made, two girls who were cocaine runners. But who they were running for was the vital key. Lionel claimed the head man was a federal judge, Raymond McClellan. He wanted the case dropped against his girls and he was willing to pay someone a lot of money to do it. Lionel had been contacted as the go between. He'd get $3,000 for the job and the cops involved, namely us, would stand to make $7,000. Everyone would even get bonus money up front. It allowed us a perfect in. We'd ask for cocaine as our upfront payment and then follow the drugs straight back to McClellan. It was a solid foundation upon which to build a case and we could keep Lionel's name out of the whole thing.

But when we got to court, the case began to unravel. I was put on the stand and pushed to reveal our snitch. Starsky and I both knew that we had to keep Lionel's name out of it or he'd be dead. I couldn't sacrifice him, not to save ourselves. How could I put an innocent man in danger? The alternative was that I'd have to let a dirty judge get away. Neither choice would be an easy one. If I did my duty, we'd be going against our promise to Lionel. If I didn't reveal his name, I'd be going against my oath to uphold the law.

The choice was not ours to make. Deputy Chief Reasoner forced us into it. I had to reveal Lionel to keep McClellan in jail. After the word got out, Lionel started getting threatening phone calls. We swore we'd protect him since we'd gotten into the situation in the first place. After a week in a safe-house, there had been no threats and no attempts. It was possible that Lionel would make it through the case without anything going wrong. It wasn't, however, very likely. One moment I was coming back from the store, picking up food to replace our dwindling supplies, and the next moment I was in Starsky's arms. My car had exploded and Starsky had abandoned his post to be with me. It was a deadly mistake. Lionel was left unguarded and that's all it took for the deed to be done. He was shot and had fallen out of the second story window from the impact. We had sworn to protect him, but when it came down to it we had protected each other. We had lost sight of our jobs and had chosen the one we loved over the one we were supposed to protect.

Huggy wouldn't even listen to our apologies. All he saw was two men who he once called friends doing a number on him, using him, in a race to be good cops. Jaime, Lionel's daughter, ever blamed us for taking her daddy away. We had lost everything because we had chosen each other when it came down to it. Going back to my apartment, the truths of the last few weeks were coming more clearly into view.

"Huggy's right, you know?" I brushed past him as he entered the living room. My body collapsed on the couch.

"We did everything we could!" Starsky emphasized, closing the door behind him.

"If that were the case, Jaime wouldn't be blaming us for her father's death."

"She's hurting," Starsky said as he came to sit in the chair beside me.

"That's an understatement."

"Huggy didn't really mean it, either. The pain's too fresh, but later on he'll see that we did what was right. We had to."

"We had to turn over his name, maybe, but we didn't have to let him die," I said, bolting from my seat and heading towards the kitchen.

"He was shot by an assassin, Hutch. We didn't let him die." Starsky followed me in. I wasn't going to escape this.

"You came after me and left him alone."

"Your car was blown up!"

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" I cut myself off, taking a deep breath and looking into his eyes. "Starsky, when you saw the explosion, what was the first thing you thought of?"

"That you were...that you were dead," his voice faltered.

"And you abandoned your post to make sure I wasn't," I pointed out. "That's the problem."

"It's wrong that I love you enough to not wanna see you get killed?"

"No, Starsk," I said. "It's wrong that we never even question it anymore."

"Are you telling me that if it was me laid out on the street like that, you wouldn't have done the exact same thing?"

"No, that's what I'm saying. There would be no question that I'd always try to save you first."

"And everyone else?"

"Everyone else comes second," I answered truthfully.

Starsky started walking away from me, pacing the living room. "Hutch, you're just thinking about this too much. Lionel got killed, you almost got killed, and Huggy's blaming us...it's just a lot to take in. You just need to take your mind off everything." He moved to the door. "Let's go out, go to a movie or something and clear our minds."

"I don't want to clear my mind," I sighed. "I want to....I don't know what I want to do."

"So you wanna stay here?"

"I want to forget this whole thing happened," I told him as he came closer to me.

"Hutch, no matter what we do, it's not gonna bring Lionel back. If you're asking me to say I'm sorry, then I'm sorry. I'm sorry that he got killed, I'm sorry that Jaime's gonna grow up without a father, and I'm sorry that this whole thing went down like it did."

"But?"

"But..." He put his hands on my face, drawing me closer. "If I had to do it again, I don't think I could honestly say I'd choose differently." Starsky pulled me into a kiss before continuing. "I can't give you up that easily. We've gone through too much to pretend that it doesn't matter."

"That has to mean something, Starsky."

"Maybe it does," he said, releasing his hold on me. "But right now I don't have the energy to deal with it. I just wanna forget for a little while."

"Then go," I told him. "Go out and forget for the both of us because I can't. I'm too tired to deal with anyone right now."

He cupped my cheek again. "Rest. I'll be back later and it'll all be okay again. We just need some time to let it sink in."

With that, he headed out the door. All I could think of was that I wish it were that simple. A few hours of rest, a new perspective, and it'd all be okay again. But it wouldn't, not really. It had gone past that a long time ago and we had to decide where we were going from here.

I was too restless to stay in the apartment, so I headed down to the beach. Maybe I could clear my mind; at least, that's what I thought. If I could just let it all slip away, then I could get my bearings again. But I couldn't forget. An abandoned child's windmill brought it all crashing back. We had sacrificed a little girl's family because we were too afraid of losing our own. The days of good triumphing over evil were such a distant memory that I couldn't even grasp them clearly anymore. What good were we doing? A good man had died and a dishonest one still sat in power and we couldn't change that. Over the years, many people had died because of us. We hurt each other and we hurt those around us and it never ended. Good would never win, the darkness would never fully be obliterated, and we would continue to pay the price. I was tired of fighting it now. I became a cop to do good, to change things, but all that had happened was that I had changed myself. I was not the man I once was, never going to be again, and that was the double-edged sword. The man from before was pure, but he was alone. The man now was never alone, yet he was tainted. What was I hanging on for? I was happy because of the love, not because of the job. One out-weighed the other and it always would.

I was just about to throw my badge into the ocean when he called out to me. He wasn't supposed to be here, yet he was. I knew that this job meant everything to him, but as I watched him pull out his own badge I realized that I had underestimated him. All Starsky ever talked about was the good that we could do as cops. He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps and be someone who made a difference. We had done that over the years, but now we were losing ground. I had chosen to walk away from the pollution that was tainting me. I couldn't sacrifice another life on the streets because of who I was. I loved Starsky and I wanted to protect him. Being a cop was important to Starsky, probably more important than anything else in his life, but when given the choice, he was choosing me over the force. Whatever our futures held, he wanted me to know that we'd be doing it side by side, together.

EPILOGUE

Starsky's hospital bed was not something I'd call comfortable. In fact, it was probably the hardest mattress I'd been on in a long time. But I'd learn to get used to it, just like I got used to a lot of things since the shooting. He rested so sporadically now that anytime that he was between bouts of pain he tried to catch a nap. I had started doing the same thing, sleeping while he slept and comforting him when the pain wouldn't let him escape. I thought he was well on his way to slumber and I was, too.

"Hutch?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever blame me?"

I opened my eyes to look over at him. "Blame you?"

"For getting shot," he said simply.

I straightened up so I could look directly at him. "Starsky, why would you ask something like that?" My voice was on edge.

"Because I dragged us right back into the middle of everything. We were free and I made us go back."

"You're making no sense, Starsk." I gathered him closer to me.

"When we threw our badges into the ocean, it was a new start." He shifted a little and let out a gasp.

"You okay?" I was immediately on alert.

"It was just a twinge."

His face was creased with slight pain. I hated seeing him like this, but he wasn't due for another pain pill yet. The worst part was, he was beginning to get used to the pain. Everyday now, he lived with the muscle spasms and the hurt and the limitations. I hated that it had come to this.

"You were right before," he began again. "We had lost sight of what we were. We're too important to each other to sacrifice ourselves for anyone else."

"Shh, you don't have to talk about this now."

"I do," he pushed on. "When I threw away my badge, it was supposed to be our new start. We wouldn't have to worry about the force or IA or anyone else coming down on us for what we were to one another. And I went and pulled us right back in because of my past."

"Alison's case was not your fault. We went back because we had a job to do. As long as we could do some good, going back wasn't wrong."

"Yeah, but if we stayed away none of this would've happened. We'd still be happy, I'd still be whole." He winced again, turning to settle more into my arms.

"They didn't get you, Starsky. You're still here with me and that's not going to change."

"Yeah, but..."

"No buts. Whatever happened, it's in our past."

"I guess this is our new start, huh?"

"We've been given a lot of second chances," I told him.

"I don't wanna waste anymore of them," he yawned.

"We won't, we won't." I eased him more comfortably onto his pillow. "Whatcha say we have a little celebration."

"A celebration?" He was trying hard to keep his eyes open. "What are we celebrating?"

"Your recovery, us, life. Who needs a reason?" I smiled at him, pulling my arm out from under him. "You go to sleep and when you wake up I'll be here with a surprise."

"A surprise, huh?" He yawned again, his eyes remaining closed. "My own personal party?"

"Your own personal party," I quietly told him as I got off the bed.

Walking around to the door, I paused as I looked back at him. "Starsky?" He was finally sleeping. Starsky deserved a party, something special to mark our new beginning. I'd call Huggy and Dobey, get them in on it, too. We had both earned the right to be happy, had paid for it time and again. I paused as I opened the door.

"I love you, Starsk. I'll always love you."

**Author's Note:**

> From the novel "Some Other Fantasy" (2004) A huge thanks to Laura for helping me get this adapted for online publication.


End file.
